


No Fate

by Rap541



Series: DoctorWho/Downton Abbey [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Downton Abbey
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 03:46:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3595137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rap541/pseuds/Rap541
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story was essentially finished last year. It was the very last scene that I stumbled over. I had always intended a sequel to Second Chances because I always thought the awkward aftermath of the situation in Second Chances begged to be told. This is very much more of a Downton Abbey story... its a cross over in the sense that Violet is is still associated with Torchwood and Isobel is still secretly Harriet Jones. Also, as it predates The Fox Hunt, there's some similar ideas and plots explored (nothing non consensual) Mostly the idea of Matthew having amnesia developed from the plot of this story. Plus while theres some serious stuff about ptsd, I think this is in general a much funnier story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

It wasn’t as jolly exciting as she thought it would be, Rose MacClare thought as she took a seat at the breakfast table. Downton Abbey was the talk of London, what with the tragic death of the heir, Matthew Crawley and then the shocking tale months later, that Matthew had in fact been kidnapped and held captive by a lowly band of Americans who had grievously injured him. It was scandalous, that he’d somehow escaped but didn’t remember. And of course, it didn’t hurt that the news rags were quick to pounce on any story. She’d been excited to find out that her planned stay at Downton Abbey hadn’t been canceled but since her arrival the night before, she was beginning to regret agreeing to early January in Yorkshire. The night before, dinner had been with Robert and Cora and Edith, the spinster, and the Dowager, and it had been all too much like being with her parents. Mary had come late, explaining that Matthew wasn’t well enough to attend. The explanation had been for her, it was not a surprise that Matthew wasn’t there for the rest of the family.

That made it all the more surprising to see him walk into the dining room that morning, wearing ill-fitting pants, an equally ill-fitting shirt, and a rather bohemian sweater, like the artist colony sorts. He looked pale and thin compared to when she had seen him last, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Nothing looked overtly wrong, but she knew something was off, something was tickling her senses about him. Mary of course looked radiant. She hovered over him and fairly glared at Robert, as if daring him to say anything. Rose waited patiently, because it was obvious Robert wanted to say something.  
She wasn’t disappointed.

“Matthew, why are you coming to breakfast looking like… well, I don’t know what.” Robert was pleasant but only a dullard would have missed the bite. “What are you wearing?”

Matthew looked at his clothes and then at Robert. “The pants are Tom’s, I think the shirt is one of yours, and the charming, overly warm sweater was found by Mr. Barrow this morning as Mary felt I looked cold.”

“You said you were cold all night,” Mary said, as she sipped her tea. 

Rose smiled. Matthew didn’t look well, she was young but she knew what someone who was recovering from something serious looked like, but the banter between the two was affectionate. She was glad, that was the truth. Matthew and Mary had been so much fun in the late summer, before all of the unpleasantness.

Robert seemed off put. “Well… why aren’t you wearing your own clothes? I didn’t want to say anything but you’ve been walking around rags ever since you’ve been well enough to get out of bed.”

Matthew eyed Mary. “Do you want to explain to your father what happened to my clothes, Mary?”

Mary turned to Robert. “Papa, I burned all of Matthew’s clothes because I was angry with God that Matthew was dead.”

Robert fiddled with his eggs. “Are you both determined to make this awkward for Rose?”

“Not determined, no,” Mary said, covering a smile. Rose tried not to smile as well.

Matthew looked directly at her. It was obvious he hadn’t even registered that she was there. He looked at her quizzically, and then at Robert. “Why… why is Rose here?”

“She’s staying with us while her parents are in India.” Rose was surprised at how carefully Robert phrased it. He waited a moment. “We talked about it yesterday. If you check your notes, you’ll see it.”

“I didn’t bring my notes,” Matthew said. He seemed embarrassed. He looked at her. “Rose, I am sorry. I was struck in the head recently and it is affecting my memory.” He gestured to his head, on the side of which was a large knot still. “If you ask me any favors, you’ll want to make sure I write them down.”

It wasn’t as amusing but it also wasn’t as difficult as some of the veterans that her father entertained behaved. “Of course I will, Matthew.” That seemed to ease the tension and they all continued to eat. Then it chanced on her what had struck her as off. “Matthew,” she asked carefully, “Did the kidnappers dye your hair? It’s just that when I last saw you, your hair was much more golden blond and now you look almost sun bleached, like one of Father’s friends from Egypt.”

She felt terrible as soon as she had said it, because Matthew blanched as though she’d chanced upon some dark secret. At the same time, she knew she was right and Robert and Mary both looked as though some strange clue had been given to them. Matthew toyed with the remains of his eggs. “I don’t know, Rose,” he finally said. He started to get up, and Mary gave him a look.

“You need to eat, Matthew,” Mary said. “At least finish.” He gave her a cross look, but finished his plate and then stood and left without asking anyone’s leave.

Robert gave Mary a stern look. “He’s not a child, Mary.”

“He’s not well, Papa,” Mary retorted. “Even if I hadn’t …. Even if I hadn’t burnt his clothes in a fit of despair, there would be nothing he could wear.”

Robert nodded. “I understand, but Mary, you must be patient. He’s trying to be well, for you, but he needs more time. I will have Bates get his measurements and go into town and get him something decent to wear.” 

It was all so deliciously awkward, Rose thought.

~*~  
It was, Thomas Barrow thought as he strode down the hallway towards the nursery, good to have something to do that wasn’t entirely depressing. Tragedy after tragedy had a way of wearing one down. He’d considering finding another job during the darkest time, after Matthew Crawley’s supposed death, but had held on. Loyalty to Sybil, a woman he’d considered a friend despite the differences class and inclination, and a bit of loyalty to Matthew as well. They had been in the war together, and that meant something to him. It was good that the man was alive, he wasn’t afraid to admit that, and it was one of the few things he agreed with O’Brien about.

Matthew was in the nursery, holding his son. Nanny West was clearly annoyed, but judging by the baby’s cheerful giggle, little George was obviously delighted to be held and jiggled. Despite himself, he smiled. It was nice to see people happy. “Sir,” he said, “His Lordship has asked Bates to get you measured so some new clothes can be obtained for you.”

“Of course he did,” Matthew said as he jiggled the baby cheerfully. “Did you hear that, George? Grandpapa Robert thinks Papa looks like a frightful vagrant. You don’t think Papa looks terrible do you? No, you love badly dressed Papa.”

Thomas did smile. There was no reason to rush, or rather, it was fun to make Bates dance attendance on him and not the other way around. And even better, Nanny West looked close to having a stroke.

“Sir, we do have a schedule,” Nanny West said sternly as she held out her arms.

“Oh babies don’t need schedules,” Matthew crooned as he continued playing with the baby, “And I did miss three months of his growing, do grant me a little grace, Nanny West.” He reluctantly handed the baby back.

“Very well, Mr. Crawley,” Nanny West said. Thomas eyed her carefully. The woman had taken against Matthew, which was obvious, and didn’t mind showing it. Not wise, considering that Matthew Crawley was technically her employer now. 

Matthew waited until they were in the hallway with the door to the nursery closed, to speak. “I shouldn’t have kept you waiting, Mr. Barrow, I apologize.” He pointed at the nursery. “It’s just… something about that woman makes me want to spite her. It’s quite hateful of me. I don’t think she likes me. ”

“Then you’re in good company,” Thomas said companionably. “She’s taken against me as well.”

“Well, then it can’t be that I’m flouting the social morays of Downton by not dressing appropriately, as you’re dressed nicely, Mr. Barrow.” Matthew said it with some amusement, but Thomas wondered.

“Can you imagine, sir, what Nanny West would have thought of the two of us having tea in the trenches? Mud up to our waists and dust falling in the tea from the shelling?” It was one of the few fond memories he had of the war. 

“Nanny West would be horrified, “Matthew said with a laugh. “You know, I think I was actually bitten by a rat in your trench hovel.”

“I certainly was,” Thomas said, a wry smile coming to his face. He hesitated. “You do look much better, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so. It’s good to see you up and about.” It was true, which made it easier to say.

“You’re very kind, Thomas,” Matthew said easily. “The truth is that I am beginning to feel better, it just feels very slow.”

“Rome wasn’t built in a day, sir.” Thomas said. He followed Matthew into Robert’s dressing room. He didn’t need to watch, but it irritated Bates to no end. 

“Any preference on clothes, Mr. Matthew,” Bates asked pleasantly as he took measurements. Thomas looked out the windows, noticing that the late morning skies had grown ominously dark. A storm was rolling in. He turned his attention back as Matthew spoke.

“Just a few serviceable shirts and pairs of pants would suit me,” Matthew said. He sighed. “I’ve lost a lot of weight, it seems silly to buy a lot of new clothes when I’ll just need new in a month.” He eyed Bates. “I assume you’ve been given orders to find some sort of dinner dress.”

“Yes, sir,” Bates said. He smiled. “Lord Grantham felt you should have something acceptable in case there was entertaining…. But the rest, I’m sure I will be able to find something that will work.” It was at that moment that the storm clouds thundered, a stunning crack that made Thomas jump. Matthew did more than jump, he dove to the floor, covering his head. Oh damn, Thomas thought. In an instant, he dove to the floor as well. 

“Blimey!” he said, taking care to sound surprised. “That was… For a moment, I thought the bloody jerries were shelling us again.” He got up, and helped Matthew up, making sure the man was steady on his feet before he let go. “I thought I was the only one who still did that, sir. I’m sorry… I must have put the war in your head.”

“The war… right,” Matthew said. He brushed himself off. “It’s not your fault, Thomas. I haven’t been good with loud noises lately. And Bates, thank you for doing this errand.” He walked out, leaving Thomas alone with Bates.

Bates took the sheet of paper with the measurements. “What was that about, Thomas?”

Thomas’s eyes narrowed. “We were in the war together, Mr. Bates.” He lowered his voice. “I didn’t want him to feel ashamed. I don’t jump *now* but I did, and I think if we don’t draw attention to it, that Mr. Crawley might start to feel less out of sorts.”

After a moment, Bates smiled. “That’s surprisingly kind of you. I’ll need to remember this date.”

“Why?”

“It’s the day I found out you had a heart, Mr. Barrow.”

~*~  
Will this work, she wondered as Matthew’s shivering began. It had worked the night before but only a little. She hadn’t pressed it, she had been too surprised that it had worked at all. Mary curled around Matthew’s body. He wasn’t cold, not at all, despite the goosebumps covering his body. He was dreaming, and remembering being cold, and that was making him shake. “Matthew,” she whispered, “You’re having a bad dream.”

“Cold. It’s so cold,” he murmured. She could feel him flinch away from her as she touched him. 

“It’s all right,” she said softly. “Where are you, Matthew?” Sometimes, when she stopped to think about it, Mary knew she wasn’t a nice person. Matthew made her better. He was by no means perfect, if anything his stubbornness rivaled her own and they both shared the same contrary nature that so often put them at odds. Matthew didn’t indulge his spiteful side often but he did have one, and she knew he had a prickly complicated sense of duty and honor. What she also knew was that Matthew didn’t lie well at all. He hadn’t loved Lavinia, not in his heart, and she had known it. When Matthew kept secrets, or lied about things, it ate at him. She remembered all too well, his determination to never let himself be happy because Lavinia died. All of the signs were there that Matthew was lying to her, and likely to everyone, about what had happened to him. He had told her, before he managed to put up all the walls around himself that he had been frightened that she and baby George would be harmed. The jumpiness, the twitching at loud noises, the strange moments where it seemed like someone had chanced on a secret… Rose had done it at breakfast and it had made Mary wonder, because Matthew’s hair did look sun bleached, which was at odds with kidnappers grabbing him in early September. And he’d startled like it was a secret Rose wasn’t meant to know. The night before, when he’d been muttering about the cold, she realized that when he was mostly asleep, he would still answer questions. Questions that he’d insist he didn’t know the answer to when he was fully awake. “Where are you, Matthew?”

“In the cell,” he said after a moment. “It’s night, it’s so cold at night… My jacket is gone… they took it out of the cell…It’s colder than the trenches…” He shook until she soothed him.

“Where is the cell?” He had to have seen something. “How did you get to the cell?”

“It’s on the ship… I don’t… I stopped the car because there was a light. They hit me with… something… It was like a shock, I couldn’t move, I could barely breathe…. It grabbed me and I was blinded by light and then…. Then I was on the ship….” There was a strange note of awe in his voice, as if he was impressed with whatever trick they’d played on him.

“Why did they take you?” It was the question even the newspapers asked. Downton Abbey wasn’t poor but the ransom demand had been ridiculous. Even if all of the property had been sold, they wouldn’t have had one million US dollars. As much as it had been heartening that Uncle Harold had been willing to stage a sell off, the money wouldn’t have come in time.

He tensed in her arms. “It was all a lie…. She lied to me… “

Mary struggled to not push too hard. “What do you mean?”

“It’s the blood… they want the blood of Harriet Jones.” His shaking grew worse. “I mustn’t… I mustn’t tell them about Mary and George. Or Robert or Edith or Sybil, or Cousin Violet… they want the family to suffer…. They can’t know… If they know they’ll take them… I can’t…. I can’t betray them… I don’t have a family…. I can’t have a family…”

Oh Matthew, she thought sadly, you are so brave. It wasn’t enough, it didn’t tell her enough at all but it gave her some things to look into. The first thing to check was who Harriet Jones was. The name tickled in her mind but she didn’t know why.  
~*~


	2. Chapter two

Rose wondered suddenly if Matthew was just being contrary, showing up to breakfast looking even more disheveled than the day before. He was in new clothes, a small improvement from the day before, but otherwise looked like something the cat dragged in, as her mother would say. Mary seemed to be daring Robert or Tom with her eyes to say something, so Rose waited with anticipation. In many ways, Downton was a more predictable home than her own, but she’d already realized that breakfast was the best time to gauge the mood.

She already had it figured out that Robert almost always rose to the bait.

“Matthew, are you well?” Robert asked, his tone concerned.

“I’m well enough,” Mathew said quietly.

“He tossed and turned all night, Mary offered. “I barely got a wink of sleep.”

Robert gave her a baleful look and nodded pointedly at Rose. Oh good, Rose thought with amusement, it begins. 

Mary looked at her and smiled. “I know you’re still very young at eighteen, Rose. I hope it isn’t a shock to hear that married men and women share a bed.”

“My mother did mention such necessities,” Rose said. “So I’m not terribly shocked.” 

Robert looked as though he wanted to chide them both but seemed to think better of it. He gestured to Matthew’s place setting, where a small envelope was waiting. “Carson brought a letter in for you. It’s from your law partnership.”

Matthew opened the letter and read it, frowning as he went through the pages. Then he set it down and resumed pushing the food around on his plate. Finally Mary broke the silence.

“What did they have to say, Matthew?” she asked.

He sighed. “They are making me a very generous offer to buy out my partnership. They list some pleasantries about how missing I have been, and how they had already started the process of bringing in a new partner because… because of my death. They regret it a great deal, of course, but hope I understand what an awkward and difficult position they’re in.” He shrugged. “It actually is a generous offer.”

“Well, that hardly seems fair, that they’re cutting you out of a practice you helped build,” Robert said, genuinely indignant. Tom and Mary both nodded agreement with him. “Can you argue it?”

Matthew smiled, his expression careful. “Not without giving up the option of the very generous buy out.” He seemed to hesitate, and then considered his next words. “Robert, they’re being very generous. They started the process months ago, so that Mary would have the money to live on if she needed it. And… even if I were well enough to resume practice tomorrow, law firms … have to maintain a certain professional reputation. Considering how most of my clients attended my funeral four months ago and now have seen a parade of news rags telling made up stories about my kidnapping. It’s not the sort of thing that inspires trust.”

“It’s hardly your fault,” Robert said.

“I agree,” Matthew said, and Rose caught an underlying snap in his voice. “But I can’t blame them for not wanting the fellow in the news rags who has no memory of where he was for three months as a partner. My old clients wouldn’t want to be associated with the scandal and new clients would be leery as well.”

Robert rustled his newspaper. “I have always wanted you to run the estate full time, Matthew. So I won’t lie and say I’m not pleased at the idea of having you here. I don’t think I could begin to count the times that both Tom and I found ourselves wishing we had your ideas and input in decisions, and the estate is profitable because of you. But I don’t like that you’re being forced out of a practice I know you put your heart into. I for one have no problem engaging the fellow in the news rags as my lawyer. Murray was planning to retire soon. When you’re feeling more put to rights, I’ll have him get you up to speed.”

“And,” Tom said, before anyone could speak, “Now that you’re up and about, why not come with me today. I talked Robert into committing to the pig idea and we need to pick the tenancies that will receive the animals in the spring.” He smiled suddenly. “I promised I would teach you how to get your hands dirty.”

That brought a smile to Matthew’s face. He chuckled. “Yes, there is nothing finer, is there?”

“Nothing at all,” Tom said. They both snickered like school boys, sharing a silly joke. It was sort of thing Rose suspected drove Robert mad, except for the fact that for a change, everyone at the breakfast table was smiling.  
~*~

“You’re not cold are you?” Tom asked as he drove. He was glad to get Matthew out of the house, that was the truth, but he didn’t want to bring down the wrath of Mary Crawley on his head if Matthew returned to the house looking even slightly worse for wear.

“Please, not you too,” Matthew said. He rolled his eyes. “I promise, the very moment I feel anything other than completely warm and comfortable, I will demand you turn the car around so that I can be put next to a blazing fire and covered with blankets.”

Tom laughed. “You know, she’s just worried for you. If, if my Sybil somehow came back, I’d never be able to let her go.” And if he sometimes wondered why Mary Crawley deserved to be the lucky one, that was something he’d never share with Matthew.

“I know,” Matthew said. “It’s just…it’s the first time I’ve been allowed out of the house for more than a moment.” He crossed his arms and leaned back into the passenger seat. He seemed to revel in taking a deep breath. “I can’t believe how beautiful it is. I never…. I never thought I’d be here again.” He waited a long moment. “Tom, it really happened, didn’t it? I was on a space ship and there were aliens, right? I’m not… I’m not making it up?”

Oh good Christ on the cross, Tom thought. He carefully stopped the car. “Yes it was real, Matthew. I have nightmares every night about what could have happened to little Sybbie. You saved her. You saved everyone you’re related to. The Sycorax were real, and they took you, unfairly, and I can’t believe there’s not some scars.” He grabbed Matthew’s hand and squeezed it. “It happened. I wish it hadn’t, because you didn’t deserve it but it did. Those things…. The Sycorax, they grabbed you and they made us think you were dead. And as much as it was a nightmare for us, I know it was a worse nightmare for you by far.” He winced, from the unpleasant memory. “I saw you, in a cell, and it was so hot I could feel my throat closing up from it. You were on one side of the cell and there were these things, these awful things on the other side, like monsters, with tentacles where their mouths should be.” Tom shuddered and was surprised that Matthew put his arm around his shoulders.

“You shouldn’t…. you shouldn’t take on against them… the Ood the Doctor called them. “Tom could feel Matthew shake. “They were so…. I don’t know how to describe it except that they had no reason to make me feel better and yet they did. I could…. I could feel them singing…”

“I worried that they hurt you.” It was hard to describe that moment, Tom realized. He’d been so enraged, and fearful, and yet he had a sense of what Matthew meant.  
“Never,” Matthew said firmly. He took a shuddering breath. “There were others… the slash marks on my chest… it was something with claws and teeth and I was just glad to get away from it… but those ones…. The Ood… I hope he helped them.” 

“The Doctor, you mean?” Tom asked.

“Yes…” Matthew was silent for a long moment. “It was like touching fire…. The Doctor was like touching the fire of a thousand suns. I don’t know how you stood being next to him… It was like standing next to God…”

“He wasn’t a god,” Tom said after a moment. The meetings and lectures from Torchwood were clear on that matter.

“I know…. I just…. I can’t take against him.” Matthew looked at him worriedly. “If it was real, then I can’t not be grateful. I know *Torchwood* disagrees with him, and his reasoning, but he was within his rights to not help, and he did. He was so angry with my mother….”

That was a good way to get in, Tom realized. It hadn’t escaped anyone that Isobel was hardly shoving Mary aside to be at Matthew’s side. Oh she had been there, he didn’t want to deny that, but the better Matthew was, the less Isobel had been visiting, and he wasn’t the only one wondering about it. Mary was worried, and so was Cousin Violet but for much different reasons. “Are you angry with her?”

“No… and yes.” Matthew closed his eyes tiredly and then opened them. “I think… I think I told her that I forgave her but I also think I told her just how nightmarish it all had been. I think she must feel terrible but…. I can’t say I’m upset she hasn’t been by.” Tom could see him shake. “I feel like I am holding on to this by a thread and it’s all I can do to keep together. Last night…. I think I told Mary something.”

Of course you did, Tom thought, and not for the first time he regretted ever attending a meeting with Torchwood. “Matthew, you have to be careful. People are already talking. You said so yourself, the story is a problem, already. Mary is worried about you, but she doesn’t know what happened and….” And he hated himself for saying it, but it was a safety issue, “she doesn’t know how much danger it will put you in. You can’t tell her until the time is right.”

Cousin Violet had never been kind, and he wasn’t so sure that Isobel was the best judge, but he did agree with them on one point. Mary was likely to take the truth badly, and would assume Matthew had lost his mind. The story was insane sounding. Mary’s first instincts would be to call a doctor. Dr. Clarkson would react badly and recommend Matthew be treated in an asylum. And it had only taken him thirty minutes on a tour of a local asylum to know that it was the last thing Matthew needed. “Promise me you won’t tell her until I say it’s all right,” he asked.

“But…” Matthew looked at him, seemingly frightened.

“Promise me, Matthew. She isn’t ready to know and it could go worse for you. For all of us.” Tom clenched the wheel as he started the engine. It was for his own good, he told himself.  
~*~

“No… No… I don’t know her….”

Mary sighed tiredly. His nightmares were getting worse. He wasn’t getting better, he was treading water, and she was beginning to think he was starting to get pulled under. She wasn’t going to allow that, of course, but she was beginning to become frightened. He was barely functioning during the day, and worse at night. The night before, he’d actually gotten up, dressed himself while still completely asleep, and left the house. Daisy the assistant cook had found him curled up in a ball in the kitchen wood shed. She waited a moment to see if he would settle.

He didn’t. “Isobel… My mother’s name is Isobel, not Harriet….Not Harriet Jones…” He muttered more but that made Mary sit up. She hadn’t connected the name. The knight, the silly intellectual knight with the female valet that had upset Carson so…. Sir Smithton. Her mother had invited him to stay mostly because he had jollied Isobel out of her sadness for a moment, by… mistaking her for someone he’d known and bear hugging her off her feet. He had mistaken her for Harriet Jones. The same Harriet Jones, she suspected, that Matthew was so frantic to insist he didn’t know.

She shook him gently. “Matthew, wake up, you’re having a nightmare.” 

He awoke with a start. “What? No… “He rolled over and looked at her, his eyes unfocused. “This is Downton… I’m in bed… It’s late…” He sat up, and rubbed his head. “Oh, I wish the headaches would stop.”

“They will,” Mary said carefully. “Dr. Clarkson said they would, and you’re much better already.” She waited a moment. “Matthew, who is Harriet Jones?”

He flinched. I knew it, she thought triumphantly. He was having memory problems from hitting his head, she couldn’t deny it, but he’d given himself away. He blinked tiredly. “What are you talking about, Mary?”

She positioned herself next to him. He needs to admit this, she told herself. “I’m talking about Harriet Jones, who you talk about in your sleep and insist you don’t know. She’s not your mother, I know that, because you insist on that as well.” The pieces fell into place. “I know they wanted to know if you had more family, because they wanted the blood of Harriet Jones. They thought you were related to her, and they were punishing you because of something she did, and you denied you had any family in order to protect George and I and everyone…. And I know you remember what happened during the months that you were missing, because you’re a terrible liar. If you think I can’t bear to hear the details, you’re wrong. I want to know what happened so I can help you bear it, so we can bear it together.”

“I don’t know Harriet Jones,” he said after a long moment. “I don’t know who she is.”

“And she’s not your mother, and we’ve already gone around this. Stop lying to me.”

“I don’t know her,” he spat back angrily, his eyes suddenly furious. “I never knew her.” He took a deep shuddering breath. “I can’t discuss this, Mary. I gave my word.”

Oh lord, not his bloody word, she thought darkly. The last time his bloody honor got wrapped too tightly around his throat, he was at Lavinia’s grave declaring honor demanding he be miserable and unhappy for the rest of his life. Sometimes she wondered how Matthew had lasted in the war without going mad. “Matthew, who did you give your word to?”

“I’m not playing this game with you,” he said softly. “I love you, and I can’t do this with you.”

“And I love you, I love you far too much to watch you slowly slip away from me because the secrets you’re keeping are eating you alive.” She stood up and faced him. “Who is Harriet Jones?”

“I don’t know,” he said through gritted teeth. He was shaking, and he was lying and it made her want to shake him and hug him all at once. It wasn’t going to work, but she took one last stab.

“Does your mother know who Harriet Jones is?” It was a stab that worked although she was careful to not let it register that she saw Matthew flinch as though he’d been slapped. 

He glared at her. “Why don’t you ask her, Mary, and see what sort of answer you get?” He laughed cynically. “Only you might want to remember that I take after my father when it comes to my ability to lie. Between you and Mother, you’d think I’d have gotten better at it at some point.”  
~*~

Yes, Rose thought as Matthew walked in for breakfast, Cousin Matthew actually looks like a specter of death. She wondered if Robert was going to say something. Unfortunately the worse Matthew looked, the less likely it was that Robert poked at him. On the other hand, she was starting to wonder if anyone was going to suggest that Matthew see a doctor. No, she realized as Robert set his paper down, apparently this wasn’t enough to comment on.

Matthew sipping his tea, clearly barely able to keep his eyes open, did the trick. 

“Matthew, if you’re not well, you should stay in bed. “ Robert said it carefully. “I try very hard to not interfere between you and Mary, and it hasn’t escaped me that she has been a bit smothering, but it’s also noticeable that you look ill.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t sleep well,” Matthew muttered. He rubbed his head. “And I had a bit of a headache all night so I gave up on sleeping. I’ll be fine.”

“And where is Mary?” Robert asked. It was a good question, Rose realized. Mary was usually within three feet of Matthew. 

He shrugged. “Somewhere in the house? We argued at around three in the morning and I didn’t chase after her when she stomped out of the room. I’m mostly just surprised she didn’t station Carson outside the door to make sure I was properly warm all night.”

The best part, Rose thought, was that Carson gave Robert a look that suggested he’d been given some order, if not that exact one. “I believe,” Carson intoned, “That Lady Mary got up very early and went into town on an errand.”

“Of course,” Matthew muttered. “Why am I not surprised?”

Robert eyed him. “What were you arguing about?”

“How unwell I look,” Matthew said. Which was fair, Rose thought. He looked quite grey at the table.

“Well, you do look ill, “Robert said after a moment. “You will have something to eat other than tea and toast.” Which was Robert being silly, Rose thought. Matthew clearly knew how to push his food around on the plate without doing more than nibbling. For a long moment though, that seemed to be the end of it.

Then Robert looked at Tom. “Tom, why aren’t you wearing your wedding ring?” He was genuinely surprised.

Tom looked down at his hands. “I… I must have lost it. I take it off when I work on the cars.”

“Lost it?” Robert said angrily. “You lost your wedding ring? Sybil’s ring?”

Oh, Rose thought, someone’s in trouble. It hadn’t escaped her that Tom tended to irritate Robert even on a good day, with his political leanings and new ideas. Losing his dead wife’s ring was going to make it a bad day.

“I’m sorry,” Tom said after a moment. He looked almost sick with shame.

“You should be,” Robert said, his voice cold.

“Leave him alone, Robert,” Matthew said tiredly. “It’s just a piece of metal.”

“It’s his wedding ring,” Robert shot back. “A symbol of their marriage, not some dime store bauble.”

“It’s not your ring,” Mathew hissed. Rose gave a start at his sudden change. He was suddenly seething. “You have no right to be angry with Tom over it. He’s kept this place running for the last four months…” He held out his hands, which still looked scabbed over and scarred. “I lost my wedding ring. Do you know how I lost it, Robert?”

Robert gave him an odd look. “I don’t know, Matthew. Tell me.”

“I was beaten until I couldn’t stand and as I was lying on the floor, crying in pain, one of them clipped it off my hand, and the only thought I had in my head was that they could have it a million times over if they would stop hitting me. Tom lost his saving… saving this house. I lost mine crying and pleading for mercy. And yet you’re mad at him. ” There was a long moment of shocked silence. Matthew rose from his chair, and lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I apologize.” He walked out.

Robert waited a moment, and then looked around the table, taking in everyone, even Edith, who looked almost shocked into silence. “I trust it’s understood that what Matthew said does not leave this room and that Mary does not hear this from anyone but myself or Matthew.” He waited until everyone nodded. “Good.”


	3. Chapter three

It struck her, as she entered Isobel’s home, that she should have noticed something was wrong. Papa had remarked, more than once, before he took a liking to Matthew, that Matthew was something of a mama’s boy, being so close to his mother. But once the initial shock of Matthew’s return had been gotten past, Isobel had backed away. She hadn’t cared at first. The truth was that she had difficulty sharing Matthew with anyone early on. Later though, while Isobel had certainly been visiting, in retrospect it was strange that she hadn’t needed to push Isobel out of her way.

“It is good to see you, Mary,” Isobel said and she poured some tea for the two of them. “Is Matthew well? I was planning to come out later today. I found some of his father’s things that I thought he might want to look at.”

Mary decided to be blunt. “No. Matthew isn’t well, Isobel. He barely eats or sleeps. I think every time he closes his eyes, he sees a nightmare. He says he doesn’t remember it, but I am absolutely certain he’s lying to me and I don’t know why. “She eyed Isobel. “He talks in his sleep did you know that?”

After a moment, Isobel nodded. She smiled suddenly. “He’s so much like his father. Reginald talked in his sleep, and he walked in his sleep, and so did Matthew when he was young. I remember one time I found them both, completely asleep, sitting at the kitchen table chatting with each other.”

If she wasn’t sick with worry, that would have been amusing. “When he’s asleep, he spends most of his time insisting you’re not Harriet Jones.” And as Isobel’s eyes widened, Mary put it together. The odd distance that had come between Matthew and his mother, his angry comment the night before about lying. That he never knew her. In his sleep he’d said it was all a lie, that *she* lied to him. That they, whoever they were, wanted the blood of Harriet Jones. “But… you are Harriet Jones, aren’t you?”

Isobel blanched and set down her cup of tea. “I…. didn’t think Matthew would hold out this long, to be honest. What else did he tell you, Mary?”

“He’s told me next to nothing. I’ve had to pry it out of him while he’s sleeping, and he is so overwhelmed with keeping his secret, keeping *your* secret, that he is collapsing from the weight of it!” Mary said it loudly. “What did you do that made those… those evil men, so angry, that they would hurt Matthew so terribly?” Because that was the part she suddenly didn’t understand. What could Isobel Crawley have done to anyone that would not only make them cruelly harm Matthew but threaten every member of the family?

“I did something that was necessary,” Isobel said after a long moment. “Every day of my life with Reginald and Matthew, I was thankful that they would never know the things I’ve seen, and I prayed they’d never have to do something as necessary. “

“To hell with what you thought was necessary!” Mary shouted. “What’s necessary is that Matthew needs my help and I need to know what’s going on if I am going to save him.”

The older woman looked her over carefully. “It’s a shame you weren’t born in a different time, Mary. You’d have been a brilliant opponent. As it is, I think I finally see why Matthew fell in love with you. We need to call your grandmother.”

“Grandmama?” It was so out of character for Isobel. “Why? You two don’t get on at all.”

“You’re about to step into a much bigger world, Mary,” Isobel said. “And you’ll believe it more if your grandmother explains how what I am about to tell you isn’t the ravings of a mad woman.” She smiled suddenly. “As awful as this has been, the knowledge that I have shocked the Countess speechless still helps take the sting away.”

~*~

It wasn’t difficult to find Matthew. Robert knew he couldn’t have gone far, and sure enough was simply sitting on one of the benches that littered the main lawn. “Matthew,” he said as he took a seat next to him, “I need to speak with you.”

“I’m sorry about breakfast,” Matthew said. He didn’t look at Robert.

Robert hesitated. It had to be acknowledged, and he knew he wasn’t always the best at such things. “I knew you were lying, about not remembering. “

“Everyone knows when I am lying,” Matthew said tonelessly. “Lavinia knew, Mary knows, you know, they knew….”

“No, “Robert said after a moment. “Dr. Clarkson thinks you may never remember and the police are very disappointed and felt you were completely ingenuous. They called you a nice chap.” He paused. “You shouldn’t be ashamed. If you think I’d be angry at the idea that you were terrified, then please stop it. It’s not shameful to be afraid. Is that why you’d been insisting you don’t remember?” He didn’t think so, despite the story at breakfast. That had somehow been wrapped up in defending Tom, for some reason.

“No… “Robert could see Matthew shaking. “You’re too hard on Tom. He’s done nothing wrong.”

“To hell with Tom,” Robert said. “This is about you. Why are you lying about knowing what happened to you? Did they threaten you?” He chanced on it in an instant. “Oh good lord, they threatened the family, didn’t they?” That explained so much. Whoever they were, they were vicious monsters. “Is that it?”

“Yes… no….” Matthew hung his head down. “I can’t tell you, Robert.”

“Why not?” Robert asked, his frustration growing.

“Because you’ll think I’ve gone insane.” Matthew’s words were quietly desperate. “It all happened, it was real, but no one will believe me if I tell. You’ll have me locked up in one of those sanitariums where they shock your brain with electricity to make you less crazy. I know it. I know how insane it sounds.”

Good lord, Robert thought tiredly, he’s worried about a scandal. That he might have had some sort of nervous breakdown. “Whoever gave you such a terrible idea? That I would react that way, and that I’d do something so vile?”

“Your mother,” Matthew said. “And my mother, and Tom…”

Robert bit back the ugly thing he was going to say as he looked at Matthew’s sickly pale face. That his mother would say something so vile didn’t shock him in the slightest, but Isobel… If he even suggested such a thing, he had no doubt that Isobel would have dragged Matthew as far away as America to prevent it. And Tom had impressed him, the last few weeks, in how supportive and defensive of Matthew he’d been. “Matthew,” he said reassuringly, “If for some reason I felt you were so mentally unsound that you weren’t able to function, you would be kept here, at Downton, and scandal be damned. I will swear to that, if necessary. Whatever happened, I want you to tell me. If it is insane, then it is. There are worse things than having a dotty son in law.” There was having a dead son in law. He knew that all too well. “Now, please tell me.”

Matthew took a deep breath. “My mother’s real name is Harriet Jones. She was elected Prime Minister of Great Britain in the year 2006, after being an MP for Flydale-North. As Prime Minister, she was in charge when an alien ship, arrived at Earth. They called themselves the Sycorax and they were planning to conquer Earth and sell most of humanity into slavery. They were defeated by a Time Lord, the Doctor… I never understood the details on that, some sort of personal combat challenge and as they were retreating, my mother had their ship shot out of the sky. It’s called the Christmas Day Invasion.”

“That…. Your mother told you this?” It was mad, but at least it was clever sounding, and it hadn’t escaped him that Matthew had, in years past, added numerous books to the library by Jules Verne, Jack London, H.G. Wells, Poe, Stoker, and Mary Shelley. At the time he’d considered it a quirk of Matthew’s, that an otherwise intelligent man just liked to read trash. He reached into his jacket and withdrew a flask and opened it. “I’m going to have a spot of whisky, and so are you.” He took a drink and then handed it to Matthew.

“She admitted it… after. “ Matthew took a long drink and didn’t hand the flask back. “They took me to punish her. Because I was her son. She had killed their families so they wanted to slowly torture me to death to make her suffer. “

“Wait….” It was the same story Smithton had told. The same story that Isobel had reacted so badly to. “Sir Smithton said something about the Sycorax doing that but he said they were some sort of Indian tribe…”

“Sir Smithton is the Doctor,” Matthew said. He took another drink. “He had a woman with him… her name was Donna. She was funny. She gave me a drink, something Indian… She had something on her back…”

Robert shuddered despite himself. He was certain that no one had bothered to tell Matthew about the short visit of Sir Smithton and his female valet. He was absolutely certain that no one had made a point of mentioning the woman’s first name to Matthew. “What else?”

“It was some sort of spaceship. They looked like giant insects with armor. They beat me every day and demanded to know who my relatives were. I told them I had no family and…” He laughed and took another drink. “Even… even they knew when I was lying.”

“And they wanted to know who was in your family so they could…. Capture them and hurt them?” It made a sick sort of sense, Robert realized. Even if he ignored the fantasy elements, and they were clicking together in a way that troubled him, it was a dastardly sort of revenge. Aliens or not, whoever had kidnapped Matthew had been hell bent on torturing him. “Your toes….”

“They were going to keep going. Slowly. And anyone that I named as family would have joined me in the nightmare.” It began to rain softly. Matthew took another long drink.

“Then never be ashamed,” Robert said firmly. “Never. I don’t care if you begged for mercy every waking moment. If that’s what it took to keep my daughters, my granddaughter and my grandson safe, then I will thank you every day for it.”

“I mostly begged to die,” Matthew said after a long moment. He hesitated. “You believe me.”

“Yes.” Robert put his arm around the man’s shaking shoulders. “You don’t lie well, Matthew. “ And as fantastic as it sounded, too many things rang true. Even if there was a layer of fantasy applied on top, he knew he was getting the truth from Matthew. And the truth, without the fantasy, was that Matthew’s mother had done something that had incurred the wrath of a very dangerous enemy and Matthew had been made to pay for it. And if Matthew hadn’t kept his mouth shut, more members of the family would have suffered. The rain was beginning to make it cold but he decided to keep pushing. It had festered far too long in Matthew, it needed to be excised cleanly. “How did you get away?”

Matthew laughed again, a dark sound, and drank even more. “I could never have gotten away on my own. I don’t… I don’t know the details… The Doctor is a sort of enemy of Torchwood and Torchwood is some sort of secret society that Cousin Violet and Tom belong to. Sybil did as well….”

Robert felt his own nerves take on an edge. He’d heard the name before, Torchwood. It had always been spoken of in hushed tones when he was a child, and he’d always been shooed away when the name came up. He’d thought that it had been some sort of secret social club, such things had been popular when his parents had been young. He hadn’t heard the name in over thirty years. Which meant Matthew hadn’t heard it in passing and added it to his elaborate fantasy.

“The Doctor showed them the truth,” Matthew said, his voice growing lower. “That…. That my mother lied to me. It’s in the blood, you know. Science will be able to prove if people are related by blood. And… Harriet Jones is not my mother. My mother died in India soon after I was born and my father met Harriet and she… became Isobel Crawley. That’s why we’re all safe now… It was a blood taunt and we’re not… we’re not blood.” He sighed heavily and took a long swig on the flask. “I can’t be angry about it. She had her reasons, and Father agreed with them.”

And Dr. Reginald Crawley had died when Matthew was 11, Robert recalled. An older man who’d had a child late in life with an older wife that was somewhat more refined than people expected for a colonial borne woman. He had only met the man once and he’d been a child.

And Matthew had found out in one of the cruelest ways possible that his parents had decided to lie to him about something they shouldn’t have. “So… this doctor convinced them that you weren’t related and let you go?”

“He convinced them that they’d made a mistake. They were going to keep me. To sell me. As a slave.” Matthew shuddered again. The rain moved from gentle to unpleasantly harsh, but there was no place to stop. “That’s…. that’s why you need to stop about the ring.”

He almost didn’t want to know. “Why?”

“Because Tom bought my life with that ring, and if you don’t think it tore at it his heart, then you’re not the man I thought you were.”

~*~

Mary set down her cup of tea. “So correct me if I didn’t follow this correctly.” She gestured to Isobel. “Cousin Isobel is actually Harriet Jones… excuse me, Prime Minister Harriet Jones of Great Britain of 2009?”

“I was elected in 2005, actually,” Isobel said easily. “Before that I was an MP for close to ten years in the Liberal party.”

“I trust that’s not a surprise,” Violet added darkly.

Mary held up her hand to stop the harangue. “To be honest, Grandmama, I think the least shocking thing that the two of you have told me is that Cousin Isobel was a Liberal.” She took a deep breath. “Matthew wasn’t kidnapped by Americans, he was kidnapped by…. Space aliens? That you,” and she pointed at Isobel, “managed to enrage by…. Blowing up several million of them with some sort of advanced weapon that the secret organization that Grandmama helped start developed entirely for the purpose of defending England from space aliens. Why did you blow them up with the secret weapon?”

Isobel shrugged. “I wanted to make the point that they shouldn’t come back.”

“But they did…. And they took your son to torture and make you feel bad. Only somehow Matthew isn’t really your son at all and the aliens let Sir Smithton, who is really a space alien as well return him to us. Now, I suppose my question is why have the two of you, and Tom, apparently, all been telling Matthew to pretend he doesn’t remember anything at all?” Because at the end of the day, she didn’t really care that Isobel was a time traveler of some sort, or that her grandmother and sister were involved in some sort of secret society that studied Martians. What she cared about was that her husband was collapsing under the weight of the secret.

“We were worried you would think he’d lost his mind,” Violet said. “Let’s be honest, Mary. If he had just told you he was kidnapped by space aliens and his mother was a time traveling politician from the year 2006, admit it, you would have called Dr. Clarkson.”

Mary almost spit back a retort and then stopped. This isn’t about being angry, she told herself, it’s about helping Matthew. Her grandmother had a point. If Matthew had sat her down and vomited out the implausible tale that he was kidnapped by space aliens, she would have called Clarkson because she would have assumed that his head injury was much worse than originally thought. “I won’t deny that,” she said finally, “but Dr. Clarkson is hardly a monster. He’s been quite worried about Matthew.”

“He also thinks Matthew should spend time in a sanitarium to deal with his memory loss,” Isobel said. “I’ve put him off on suggesting that to you because I know how badly mistaken he is, and as long as Matthew seems reasonably well, he’s agreed to drop it. But he would press the point if you told him that Matthew said he was kidnapped by alien creatures.”

“Is that really so terrible? A sanitarium?” She didn’t relish the idea of Matthew spending time in a hospital away from her but if it would help him, she was all for it. “Isobel, Granny, I don’t want to overstate things but he’s not well. He’s barely eating or sleeping. When he does sleep, he’s obviously having nightmares when he’s not getting up and wandering around the estate while asleep. He’s so obviously burdened with worry… maybe he does need to get away for a bit.”

Violet put a hand on Isobel’s shoulder, obviously stopping the woman from jumping out of her chair. “Isobel and I are both quite against it, Mary. To begin with, we would never be able to keep it quiet. Second, I apparently didn’t impress upon you how Torchwood is a secret society. Matthew can’t tell his tale to an alienist without revealing Torchwood’s role.” The older woman hesitated. “Torchwood isn’t interested in publicity. And Isobel has futuristic concerns about Matthew spending time in an asylum or sanitarium.”

She didn’t like how ominous her grandmother’s words were, or the angry look in Isobel’s eyes. “What sort of concerns?”

Isobel seemed to take a moment to compose herself. ‘Mary… to begin with, Matthew isn’t mentally ill. What he remembers is accurate, it’s not a fantasy. Any doctor that he told the truth to would assume he was having some sort of hallucination and act accordingly. And that…. Would end badly.”

“Why?” Mary asked.

“Because this time is called the dark ages of mental health,” Isobel said quickly. “Do you think Matthew would get better if he was immersed in an ice cold tub for hours at a time, and drugged to where he couldn’t speak simple sentences? Or tied up in a straight jacket and locked in a padded cell because his sleep walking would have the staff deem him unruly? Do you think he’d be helped if he was tied down to a table and given electric shocks to his brain until he has seizures? How would you feel about a doctor cutting into his brain to excise the memories and make him more manageable? Because all of that is the standard care for someone who’s lost touch with reality. All sending him to a sanitarium would accomplish is making things ten times worse.” Isobel gathered herself. “I’m sorry we told him to not tell you what he remembered but believe me, the last thing he needs is an asylum.”

“We were frightened, Mary,” her grandmother said. “Frightened that he would say the wrong thing and then your father and Clarkson would club together and override us and in their attempts at kindness, damage Matthew beyond repair.”

As angry as the deception made her, Mary couldn’t deny the concern and worry she was seeing on both women’s faces. Worse, as angry as she was at Isobel for concealing something so important from Matthew for so long, she couldn’t deny that Isobel’s fears were real and plain on her face. The woman was terrified and appalled at the idea of what could happen to Matthew. “So now I know. Am I allowed to tell him I know?”

Isobel glanced at Violet, who nodded. “Yes,’ Isobel said softly.

“But,” Violet intoned, “you’re not to tell anyone else, and neither is he. I don’t control Torchwood, I merely wield influence. There is a faction that would prefer this all go away. If Matthew were to even think about talking to the press….Let’s just say regrets and condolences would be expressed.”

Mary took a moment to internalize that. “Torchwood hardly sounds respectable.”

Her grandmother glared at her. “Be thankful it is a burden you will never have to share, Mary.”

~*~

Tom stepped into the library. He didn’t want to get in Robert’s way but he was beginning to get concerned. “Robert, have you seen Matthew?”

Robert was at the small bar, holding a glass of bourbon. It was early for Robert to be drinking. He waved the glass at Tom indicating he wanted him to come closer. “Matthew is in bed. I need you to run some errands for me. I’m sending Cora, Edith and Rose to Rosamund’s for a few days so they need to be driven to the train station. Then I need you to bring my mother and Matthew’s mother here. I assume Mary will be with them.”

“What for…?” Tom asked, although he had a feeling he knew. Matthew’s explosion at breakfast hadn’t let off enough steam. Now it was just a matter of finding out what he’d said, what Robert knew and what Robert intended.

“Because we need to have a long talk about how Matthew is not going to get well if we are all determined to keep him in a constant state of terror, that if he opens up his mouth and says something slightly odd, that I’m going to have him shipped to an insane asylum.” Robert took a long drink. “That’s for starters. Oh don’t look down in the face, Tom. You’re the only one I’m not utterly livid with.”

“What did Matthew tell you?” It wasn’t what he expected. He expected to be at the top of Robert’s list of people to be angry with.

Robert sighed. “He told me that you risked your life in traveling with England’s greatest enemy, a Time Lord, who apparently calls himself the Doctor, and bargained with an alien Sycorax slave master to buy his life. However much I doubt the details of that story, I believe that you didn’t go to Manchester four weeks ago and that your wedding ring bought Matthew’s life. I intend to find out the exact details from you, my mother, and Matthew’s mother as to how all of this happened really… But I owe you an apology, Tom. I was dreadful to you this morning and I am sorry. Matthew was right, it wasn’t my place to judge you and Sybil… Sybil would have handed over every piece of jewelry she owned and never grudged it a moment. Matthew’s life is worth everything and you did the right thing and I shamed you for it.” He took a drink. “I always wished for a son and that was denied me. Or so I thought. Now I have two… both of whom I take pride in having. Never forget that, Tom. I shall be grateful to you until the end of my days.”

It was a surprise, Tom realized, how much that meant. “Thank you, Robert. That means more than you know. But…”

“But?”

“What Matthew told you... About the alien slave master and the Time Lord… That was true. You… you must know that.” He couldn’t let the man think Matthew had gone mad.

Robert took another drink. “So I have two dotty sons in law.”

~*~

“Where is Matthew?” Mary said as she entered the library.

Robert waited just a moment, before answering. “He is upstairs in bed and it’s very unlikely he’ll awake any time soon since he drank about a fifth of scotch and I gave him one of your mother’s sleeping pills. This… discussion is not one that Matthew needs to attend.”

The truth was that he didn’t like cutting Matthew out but at last check, Matthew was sleeping like a man kept from rest far too long. It would have to do, and he would apologize to Matthew later. As it was, he rather doubted Matthew would mind. It was for his own good, after all.

And he rather doubted Matthew was up for the row. The truth was that he didn’t much relish the row either, but it had to be done. And he had to get to the bottom of it. Mary was, for a change, the least of the problem. No, the problem was his mother, and Matthew’s mother, and each on their own was a formidable opponent. Together, with Mary on the side taking whoever’s side was being kind to Matthew, it was like facing a band of harpies. As he glared at each of them, he wondered how to start.

“You gave Matthew alcohol and a tranquilizer?” Isobel was suddenly irate, no matter that she had entered the library like a child expecting to be punished. “My god, Robert, he has a head injury!”

He felt his blood boil. “Well, where exactly have you been as he’s tottered around this house with his eyes barely open? For that matter, who here has told Matthew that the second he steps out of line that I will have him shipped off to the local asylum where he’ll receive electroshocks to his brain until he decides to shut up? I don’t appreciate being made the bogeyman in this farce.”

It was his mother who spoke first. “Robert, we couldn’t have him telling people the truth.”

He spun around on her. “And what is the truth, Mother? That Isobel is the Prime Minister of England in 2006 and aliens from Mars abducted Matthew to punish her and he was rescued by a time traveler from another world?”

His mother sniffed. “That’s quite accurate, actually.”

“It’s Great Britain, not England,” Isobel added. “And the aliens weren’t from Mars, they were just broadcasting from Mars.”

“Shut up!” Robert shouted at her. “You lied to Matthew about being his mother. How could you?”

A fire rose in Isobel’s eyes. “Consider the alternative, Robert, before you judge me for that. Reginald thought it was best, because Matthew was so young. And then Reginald died and I certainly never received any offers of help from Reginald’s family. How could I lie to him? It was easy considering no one in his family gave a bloody damn about him until all the other heirs died. Reginald left us with next to nothing, I worked to keep Matthew in school and he earned his place at Oxford, and then Patrick dies and everyone acted like it was an affront that Matthew was a middle class solicitor. If I hadn’t been there, if I hadn’t loved him as my own, your heir would have ended up in a bloody work house for all his family cared. So don’t you dare judge me for that, Robert.” She took a deep breath. “I lied to him about adopting him. Not about loving him. There was never a right time when Reginald was alive and frankly I never saw the point after. You have every right to be angry that I kept my background a secret and I endangered members of this family. You have *no* right to judge me for raising Matthew as my son because I damn well know that no one ran to take him from me when his father died.” She suddenly stopped short, as if shocked by the force of her own words. “I’m sorry, that was unkind.”

Not, Robert noted uneasily, unfair. It wasn’t unfair at all. “I was uncivil. Let’s… restart this discussion with the understanding that I think we all want Matthew to be well. I’ll start by saying I know now, about… the aliens, you being a time traveler and prime minister of Great Britain in the year 2006, and the fact that most of my family is in some sort of secret society… Isobel, I gave Matthew a tranquilizer because the alcohol only took the edge off and I think Mary will confirm that he hasn’t been sleeping and I… didn’t want to call Dr. Clarkson when Matthew was in a state where he might repeat what he told me.” Clarkson was exactly the sort who would insist that Matthew be taken to a sanitarium.

“I’m with Papa on that,” Mary said suddenly. “Isobel, you haven’t been here. I can tell you, if he’s had an hour or two of sleep the last few nights, that’s been lucky.” Mary was not happy, Robert realized, but she was willing to see reason.

“You can’t expect him to not talk to anyone,” Tom said suddenly. “He told me the other day, he wasn’t even sure if it was real… you can’t expect him to stay sane if we all sit here and refuse to listen to him.” He eyed Violet. “I don’t care what Torchwood thinks…. I want Matthew well. He’s been collapsing for weeks, because of us. For god’s sake we told him not to talk to Mary.” Tom looked at Mary with stricken eyes. “I’m sorry for that, Mary. I’m sorry because he needed you and we made him deny telling you when it was eating him alive.”

Oh dammit, Tom, Robert thought, why am I liking you so much? At the same time, he wasn’t surprised that Mary didn’t appreciate what Tom was saying.

“What did he tell you?” Mary demanded.

“Mary,” Robert said tiredly. “Matthew told me everything. And most of it was…. Unspeakable.” He wasn’t exaggerating. He’d thought Matthew was having a breakdown so he’d put aside most of the unpleasantness but with the verification, he was horrified at the idea that Mary would at some point know. A part of him regretted pushing the man, and another part was glad to know, if only so he would feel comfortable with what he was about to say. “I think… he will talk with you about it…but it will take time and you need to be patient.” And god knows Mary never had patience.

“Patient? He’s my husband and apparently everyone has been lying to me and to him and threatening him in the bargain.” Mary spun on Tom, enraged. “You told him not to tell me what happened?”

“I said I was sorry,” Tom said, his eyes stricken. “You weren’t there, Mary. It was a nightmare. It was a nightmare of aliens and slaves and whips that disintegrated people and I don’t know how he stood it. I don’t know why he isn’t completely insane. It was awful. I thank god that Sybil never knew what Torchwood really was.”

“Oh Tom, you have no idea what Torchwood is,” Violet said with a sniff.

“Well, why don’t you tell us what Torchwood is, Cousin Violet?” Everyone spun around as Matthew entered the library, his steps sharp. He was, Robert realized, almost eerily alert. He pointed his finger at Violet. “I think I’m due a little explanation, if no one else is.”

Violet, to give her credit, stared him down. “You will get an explanation when you agree to be debriefed, and not until then, Matthew.”

“And what if that’s never?” Matthew asked, his tone both jocular and harsh. “You can let your lackeys know they won’t get their debriefing until I get some answers.” He spun around and pointed at Robert. “What did you give me? I feel fantastic!”

“Yes, Robert, what did you give him?” Isobel asked, her voice laced with concern. “This… isn’t a tranquilizer…”

“A tranquilizer?” Matthew said. He fairly hopped. “Can’t be. I am so awake.”

It didn’t escape him that Isobel was worried. Worried and concerned and as Matthew pranced about the room, he had to admit, he was feeling a little concerned himself. “Cora doesn’t label the bottles… I thought they were all the same.”

Isobel rolled her eyes. So did Mary.

Matthew, meanwhile, seemed quite willing to air grievances. “Mary, Tom saved my life. You don’t get to be angry with him over all the lies he had to tell you. That has to stop right now. That goes for everyone else as well. The worst moment…. The worst moment of my life is that Tom showed up on an alien space ship to rescue me. The second worst moment of my life was Tom handing over his wedding ring to buy my life from the Sycorax. I would be dead without the first and I would be worst than dead without the second. If there’s anyone who deserves a moment of praise in this, it’s Tom.” He waited a long moment and then rolled his eyes. “This is where everyone present should thank Tom? Or all we all rude?” He waited mere seconds. “Well, clearly manners aren’t important. Thank you, Tom.”

“You’re… welcome, Matthew,” Tom said as Matthew seemingly ignored him and stepped around to his mother and Violet.

“I love you,” Matthew said to Isobel, “But I am so angry with you. Can we pretend for about four more weeks that I don’t recall all the sordid things I do recall? Just so I can stop worrying about it? And then we’ll have a large row where I’m quite unpleasant?”

“I think that’s fair,” Isobel said.

“Good. I’m not up for it.” Matthew glared at Violet. “You can tell Torchwood that we would lose if the Sycorax decided to drop by. The only thing I can give you details on is that their unpleasant weapons….Mother, what’s the term I’m looking for?” He snapped his fingers at her.

Isobel hesitated. “I think you’re thinking of the lazar whip, Matthew.”

“Yes, thank you. The lazar whip. What a charming device. On the low setting it hurts like bloody hell. On the high setting, that thankfully I only had to witness a few *thousand times*, it disintegrates a body to where you can actually see the bones burning. On the low setting, it’s left some unpleasant scars. Would you like to see, Cousin Violet? I wouldn’t mind some suggestions on how I am to explain this to my next valet.” He started to unbutton his shirt.

Mary stepped forward and put her hands on top of his to stop. “Matthew, I think you’ve made your point. Grandmama doesn’t need to see….”Her voice took on a more coquettish tone. “And I told you they’re not entirely unpleasant. It’s actually quite dashing, you bravely protecting me and the family… “She leaned in close. “I like it when you’re forceful, Matthew.”

He seemed off put. “But you’ve been acting like I’m a child…”

“I’ve been worried. You were gone, and then you haven’t been well, but clearly it’s time I adjust as well.” She took his arm, and started to pull him away towards the door. “You’ve made your point quite well and I am sure Papa wants to continue tongue lashing everyone that’s been keeping secrets…. But I think I’d rather see what’s under that shirt.”

“Maybe that’s a secret,” Matthew said, his tone edging more towards amusement.

“Maybe I should make you show me….” Mary continued leading him out of the library.

Isobel sighed. “And to think I was never quite sure that he liked women.” She eyed Robert. ”When you said it was unspeakable, what did you mean?”

“Isobel,” Robert said, “I mean just that.” He poured Tom a brandy and handed it to him. It hadn’t escaped him how white the man had gone when the talk of the lazar whip had come up. Even Isobel looked a bit off over the whole business. “Let it drop until he talks to you. He seemed much better for having spoken of it.”

Isobel rolled her eyes. “He seemed much better because you gave him one of Cora’s amphetamines. He’s going to crash. Mary will be lucky if she gets him up the stairs before it happens.”

“He was better before that,” Robert said harshly. “Because I was able to convince him that I wasn’t going to ship him off to the sanitarium. Speaking of being angry with one’s mother,” he tipped his own glass to Violet, “Thank you so much, Mother, for making me the monster in this.”

Violet shook her head. “Oh Robert, don’t be dramatic. He had to be protected and this was the only way. What if he told Dr. Clarkson what he had told you? What if he said it to one of the servants? He had to be silenced, at least early on, so that the decision wasn’t taken out of your hands. You’re not usually this slow, Robert. The media would be very sympathetic, as would our friends, but no matter how sympathetic, questions would have been asked about his sanity. Questions he would have answered, and made worse, because Matthew has the cunning of a five year old at times. It’s bad enough already, if the public got word of aliens, it would destroy him. He’d forever be the mad Earl of Grantham. At best, he’d be a laughingstock.” She paused. “I am sorry that we didn’t take you into our confidence, Robert. It had to be you, in order to keep him from involving anyone else.”

“And what does Torchwood have to say?” Torchwood, the very idea of it, incensed him.

“Very little, really.” Violet said. “They’re more concerned that if he did get sent to an asylum, before he was debriefed, that there might be some… loss of intelligence. Both figuratively and literally. But worse, they’re worried that he’s unreliable and will reveal Torchwood. You may not realize this, Robert, but I’ve kept the wolves at bay as far as Torchwood is concerned. He’s better now, I think we all agree with that. Now that he is more himself, I think it’s unlikely he’d discuss this with anyone outside this circle… But I am not ultimately in control of Torchwood and I wouldn’t have been allowed to protect him if he ranted to the wrong person…”

“They would have killed him to silence him.” Robert caught the implication. “You would have allowed that?”

“No,” she said simply. “But I am glad for everyone’s sake that the contingency plans haven’t needed to be used. “


	4. Chapter four

There was, Rose thought, something different. She couldn't deny that after the short trip to London in early February, that the entire household seemed.... Better. Less stressed. She suspected that Robert had sent her and Edith and Cora to London to have some sort of massive row with Mary about Matthew. That was her sense anyway. On their return, it was as if some black cloud had lifted. Matthew had resumed getting well, and if he seemed a little off at times, it at least seemed to be improving. His memory was better, the sleep walking was lessening, and he seemed less.... Less worried. It was helped that Mary was letting the poor man breathe. They seemed to be happier, and that made the whole house seem lighter. That meant she might get her way.

"I was wondering," she said carefully as everyone took their seats, “If we're going to do any entertaining soon?"

Robert looked at her, and then opened his paper. "Cora said something similar. I was thinking it’s time we had a party. Perhaps a shooting party. Matthew, you're up for that, aren't you?" Matthew nodded. "I am in that I certainly could walk around holding a shot gun and occasionally firing it at a bird."  He smirked at Robert. "Oh don't look at me like that, Robert. The only thing I was ever good at shooting was Germans."

"I was thinking that you could help Tom with the finer points," Robert said after a moment. He eyed Tom. "It's time you learned how to shoot something other than Englishmen."

"Then Tom will need hunting clothes," Mary said easily, “and so will Matthew, and frankly Matthew's dress clothes will need to be looked at."

Robert set his paper down. "I assumed Tom would need something, but why does Matthew?"

"Well," Rose said, pleased together able to join in, "I believe Mary burned all of Matthew's clothes because she was angry with God over Matthew dying and Matthew was right that you should have waited on getting new dress clothes until he was better or at least thirty pounds heavier."

Mary snickered. "She does sum it up well, papa."  "Everyone is obsessed with my wardrobe," Matthew said.

~*~ The guest list for shooting was an odd mix, Tom thought. Edith had invited her friend Michael Greggson, so he wasn't guaranteed to do the worst. Robert was shooting, which he knew was rare. There were any number of local members of the gentry, including Sir Richard Carlisle, who had surprised everyone in the family by showing up.  Robert assumed he was looking for a story and warned Mary and he both too keep an eye on Matthew. Carlisle had always maintained a certain frosty pleasantness that belied the fight he’d had with Matthew, and Tom was suspicious of his motives. Robert was being cautious, and Tom suspected part of his participating in the shooting was to watch out for Matthew. Matthew for his part had been pleasant and friendly to people, with no jumpiness due to the gunfire. He suspected Robert insisting that Matthew give him shooting lessons was much less about killing birds and much more about making sure Matthew didn't react badly to loud noises. He'd kept tight to Matthew, in part because he didn't know most of the guests, and he sensed that Robert wanted a united front for the party. It hadn't escaped him or anyone that the event was essentially reintroducing Matthew to the peerage. It also hadn't escaped him that the various guests were keeping an eye on Matthew as well. Like vultures, although so far no one had asked anything crass.

"Have you actually gotten a bird or two?" Matthew asked pleasantly as he reloaded.

"One," Tom admitted with a grin. “I’ve gotten three," Matthew admitted ruefully. "Its lucky dinner isn't dependent on us, isn't it? Hopefully Robert defends the family honor."

Greggson walked over, his own rifle down. "Matthew," he said quietly, "are you quite all right? You look a bit peaked." Greggson was also a reporter, Tom recalled, but less likely than Carlisle to go after a negative story. That meant it was worth giving Matthew a look over. He did, Tom realized, look more tired than anyone else. Good that they were almost done.

"It's been a bit tiring," Matthew admitted after a moment. "But fun. Good to be out and about and all that. Clearly the birds were safe from me."

Greggson smiled. "For what it's worth, you both did better than I did." He paused, and Tom saw him move forward at a rush. Tom spun around in time to see Greggson discreetly grab Matthew and prop him up against a tree. "Matthew?"

Tom jumped into action. Fortunately there weren't any others directly around. He was appreciative that Greggson let him grab Matthew from him. "Matthew are you dizzy?" Matthew, for his part, was there but not there, eyes open but clearly struggling to stay on his feet. "Remember what Dr. Clarkson said, sit down and take deep breaths, and it will pass more quickly." He was grateful that Greggson merely helped him ease Matthew to the ground, and moved the loaded shot gun away. "Do you know what caused it?" Clarkson liked to know, although his usual response was to say to not do whatever it was.

"I turned my head too quickly," Matthew said after a long moment. "It's not easing off... I'm spinning..." He closed his eyes.

"You're not spinning," Tom said, "and you're talking when you should be taking deep breaths."

 Greggson looked at him worriedly. "Should I call Robert?"

"Not yet," Tom said carefully. "It usually passes." Greggson nodded. "Edith mentioned a head injury troubling him... Matthew, is it getting better? “He gestured towards the main pack of shooters, who were shifting about. It wouldn't be long before they circled back and Matthew collapsed and near unconscious was exactly what Robert didn't want people to see.

"I think so...." Matthew started to get up, and Tom gave him a hand up. Letting go was going to end badly, Tom realized. Greggson seemed to see the difficulty as well.

"This probably isn't what you wanted people to see, is it?" Greggson said knowingly. "Let me take the blame... I still owe you, after all." Before either of them could respond, he turned around and fired his shot gun off into the air. Then he began to shout. "Bloody hell, Crawley! I damn near took your head off!  I didn't hit you did I?" He immediately made a show of brushing Matthew off as the main pack of hunters came running.

"What happened?" Robert said, as he ran to a stop in front of them.

Greggson shook his head and handed Robert the shotgun. "I fired off at a bird and I didn't see him at all."  It was a damn clever story, Tom realized. It completely explained why Matthew looked breathless and pale. It also had no reference to the whole presumed dead and buried story. Matthew had every reason to look out of sorts and shaky, since the middle class interloper who'd possibly never been hunting had nearly blown his brains out.

"I'm all right," Matthew said after a long moment. "My head is spinning but I'm not shot." He gave Robert a quick look, and Tom let go of him, feeling that he was steadier. "It was an accident. Greggson didn’t see me... I could have been minding my position better." A few of the older men sniffed derisively at Greggson, who continued to make a show of apologizing. Tom could see that Robert wanted to blow up at the man, so he grabbed the man quickly. “Leave off, it was an accident… like Sybil’s ring. No one is hurt.” Louder, he added, “Let’s just not mention this to Lady Mary… She’ll never let you out of the house if she hears about this.” That led to some good natured chuckling all around, and Matthew and Greggson both getting some friendly pats on the back. It also let the hunt end early.

~*~

The dinner was soon. She hated to wake Matthew but he had to put on a show so that people would mind their own business. And for a change, she agreed with Tom. The dizzy spell had been from overexertion, not anything else. That he was sleeping cleanly and deeply was the sign that told her that he was better. But he had to make an appearance. As upsetting as almost being killed on a pheasant hunt was, it wasn’t an excuse to skip the evening festivities.

It was an excuse to act befuddled and out of sorts and Matthew was better at that sort of deception than anyone ever really considered. It was silly really, how once she realized what he was doing, how magnificently Matthew did lie when it suited him. As much as he was terrible face on, the reality was that he knew how to turn on the charm and be as perfectly normal, and yet still a bit off as people expected him to be. She knew it was a lie. Tom, Isobel, and her father knew it was a lie. She suspected even Cora and Edith had an idea of what a liar Matthew was. She knew though that it offended his sense of honor to call it lying but it was curious to watch him play the role of the recovering wounded kidnap victim who sadly had no memory of his cruel treatment and yet was cheerfully and gamely moving forward.

It was curious because she wondered how much of his recovery was part of his show. Of course, having guests made it clear how hard he was trying. Even her mother had mentioned it, that she hoped Matthew knew he didn’t have to overdo it. She personally would have preferred to put off an official sort of party until summer, but her father had made the point that it would shut people up about it if Matthew turned up and made a reasonable show of recovery. By all reports, the hunt was a success, even if Greggson did have to pull them out of the fire.

Papa worried about Greggson but Matthew had told her why Michael Greggson thought he owed Matthew a favor. Who knew Edith was such a wild woman, dating a married man with a crazy wife? Matthew made her promise not to say anything and she already felt ready to burst but as much as telling Papa would amuse her, it also meant giving up the protection Greggson was willing to grant. She had to admit, Matthew falling or fainting, or acting discernibly odd was what most of the attendees were hoping to see. Except Rose, who seemed quite dedicated to the idea of creating a giant scandal by leading most of the younger men by the nose and worse. She shook him gently. “Matthew, you have to wake up and get dressed for dinner.”

He opened his eyes. “If I told you I’d rather ravish you in the bed, would you let me skip the dinner?”

“And have nothing but dessert? No, but if you are good, I might let you leave the dancing early.” She kissed him. “Now come along. We need to get you dressed. I wish you would let Papa bring Mosely back. You need a valet.”

He sat up and yawned. “I never *needed* a valet and Mosely is a very nice chap who can’t keep a secret to save his life.” He looked at her quizzically. “Where is Mosely?”

“Your mother has him at her house as the butler. Papa convinced her to keep him on until you were ready,” and then she laughed, “and when you had enough clothes to need to worry a valet with.”

He laughed too. “I’m not ready to deal with him yet.” His eyes twinkled. “Letting Mother handle him will be part of her punishment.”

“You do need to have it out with her, you know.” If there was an indicator that Isobel had crossed Matthew, it was that he was letting his spiteful side rule when it came to seeing her. She understood it, all things considered but….

He sighed as he tied his tie. “I know, but tonight is not the night, so let’s drop that, shall we?” He eyed her. “You know, you look stunning, Mary.”

She leaned into him. “Are you still trying to get out of dinner?”

“Maybe… is it working?”

“It is, but you still have to go to dinner.”

~*~

The problem was that he really was tired and while he could carry dinner conversation well enough, it was obvious to him that there was a nasty tone to some of the questions. At least twice he was certain that Sir Richard had asked him a similar if not identical question. He was also certain that some of the younger men circling around Rose were desperately trying to let him hear an unpleasant remark. It wasn’t as unpleasant as his first appearance at Downton’s social gatherings had been, where he was the undeserving interloper who likely had no manners, but he did feel like vultures were circling.

Which really made no sense, from a technical standpoint. He had a legitimate heir, if he died and Robert died, the estate would fall to George so it wasn’t as though there was anything to gain. Except to ruin his already questionable reputation. He doubted there was much left to save, judging by some of the snickering comments. It also wasn’t helping that he had not only missed three months of news and gossip, it was really more like five months since he hadn’t even left the estate to go into town. So he had no opinions on the stories of the day, let alone witty or clever opinions. And since he couldn’t exactly share what he’d been up to on the alien space ship, he suspected he was turning out to be a sore disappointment.

It was important that he make the rounds. It was easier with the older guests, Robert’s friends and their wives. They were sympathetic and quick to politely note how well he looked and generally waited until he was turned around before they told Robert that he shouldn’t have been at the hunt. That was fair, he had to admit. He had a feeling the family, Mary included, had lowered their expectations as to what he was supposed to look like as a healthy man. In an unpleasant way, it was good to know that he needed to get better, that he didn’t look fully recovered or even close to recovered.

On the other hand, if he heard one more person say he looked awful, he wasn’t sure what he would do. And all he had left was the younger set, who were more likely to be blunt. He made his way to the huddle of men surrounding Rose. She was a pretty woman, he thought suddenly, and she was smarter than most of the louts she was flirting with. A pity really that she had few prospects unless one of the silly louts actually fell in love with her. “Rose, I must apologize,” he said easily, as he took her hand and kissed it, “I have been quite remiss in chaperoning you tonight. I trust these young men have all been respectful of how you haven’t been presented yet?” A silly custom, and one that got insanely expensive if one had several daughters like Robert.

The various young men, none of them old enough to have been in the war, mostly rolled their eyes at him. He consoled himself that the crush Rose had on him hadn’t faded despite the little harem she had acquired for the weekend. “Oh Cousin Matthew,” she said cheerfully, “we were just talking about you, and how difficult a time you’ve had.”

Of course, he thought darkly, but he managed to smile. “It’s a pity I don’t remember more,” he said easily, “considering how difficult it was.” He noticed suddenly that Sir Richard had appeared out of nowhere and joined the little group. Wonderful, he thought, and who thought inviting Mary’s ex-fiancé the newspaper magnate was wise?

“You walk pretty well for a man who had all his toes cut off,” one of the young men offered. “Edwards and I were remarking on it during the hunt, that you don’t limp at all.”

Oh god is this really what people think, he thought. “I didn’t have all of my toes cut off, just two. I suppose I was lucky.” It hadn’t hurt to walk after the first few days. He’d been lucky all around. The scars were ugly, no matter what Mary said, but she was the only one who had to see them, and the only thing that still troubled him was his head, and Clarkson had already told him it would trouble him for at least a year

“Lucky indeed,” Carlisle said. “There have been some terrible stories from New York about kidnappings that went to much more unpleasant places. As it is, I am pleasantly surprised to know that my paper at least was accurate in reporting your injuries.” He looked Matthew over, an almost clinical look. “You might be pushing things. I notice you’re not drinking.”

“I’m not,” he admitted, sensing that Carlisle was probing him. “The doctor believes I had some sort of skull fracture, which accounts for my inability to remember. I still have headaches and alcohol makes the headaches worse.”

Carlisle smiled thinly. “And I can’t imagine Greggson firing a rifle off at your head helped that particular problem.” He paused. “This party was likely a good idea. People talk, I’m sure you know that. You don’t look well, Crawley, but you also don’t look as terrible as certain stories suggest. Putting in a good appearance helps.” He gestured to the crowd of people littered around the house. “It’s certainly a much cheerier party than the last I attended here.”

“When was that?” he asked. The young men surrounding Rose snickered as though a delightful joke had just been told, one that he was apparently quite the dolt for not getting. He gave Carlisle a quizzical look, hoping someone would let him in on the joke.

Carlisle raised his brow and then smiled. Not a pleasant sight since Matthew was certain that the man didn’t like him all that much at all, and had an ulterior motive in accepting the invitation. They were hardly friends. “Crawley, the last time I was here, it was the reception after your funeral.” That set the younger men into actual laughter.

It made him feel suddenly sick. “Well,” he said carefully, “I suppose I was the only one who missed that bit of entertaining.”

“Ironic, that.” Carlisle said.

~*~

Robert savored his glass of brandy. He was quite pleased with how the hunt and the party had gone. As much as he suspected Matthew had been pushed too hard to play the host for the weekend, the man had made a good show of it. If people were concerned, they were also pleased to see him looking much better than the newspapers suggested. They could avoid having more large parties until summer, and having the occasional dinner or two would be less involved.

“Robert, might I have a word?” He saw Richard Carlisle standing in the doorway.

“Of course, Sir Richard.” He was too tired to take offense at Carlisle being overly familiar.

Carlisle stepped into the room and was about to close the door when Michael Greggson fairly leapt into the room. “Lord Grantham, I was hoping to have a word with you.”

“Well, so was Sir Richard, so if you could give us a moment?” Hard to believe he was so popular at close to midnight.

Greggson eyed Sir Richard. “Carlisle, did you get a letter? A letter you feel you must discuss with Lord Grantham?”

Carlisle nodded after a moment. “While I know your motivations are somewhat different than mine, I suspect we’re both here for the same reason.” He closed the door and took a seat and so did Greggson. Robert poured them both cordials and took a seat himself.

“So you both have received letters you want to discuss? What were they about?” He could guess.

Carlisle took the lead. “You have a leak in your household, Robert. I received an anonymous letter detailing eyewitness accounts of Matthew Crawley behaving in a bizarre fashion around this home. One of the reasons I accepted your invitation was to see if there was any truth to the claims.”

“How mercenary of you,” Robert said coldly. “I trust you found them to be false.”

Carlisle smiled slightly. “On the contrary, I strongly suspect the tales told were true, for the most part, but cast in the worst possible light. Someone in this house does not like your son in law. I have no intention of parading your household’s woes across the paper, but you need to know that someone is telling stories.”

“What kind of stories?” There were rumors, and then there were rumors.

Greggson broke in. “Your servants have a standing order to watch Matthew for signs of trouble, because he faints, has dizzy spells, and will jump and leap to the floor if he’s surprised by loud noises. He walks in his sleep and is often found in odd places, on at least two occasions outside the house. Apparently it’s possible to actually get him talking when he’s doing this and he’ll talk about bizarre things. He has nightmares. He has taken an odd affection for dressing poorly and periodically refuses to eat or sleep to where you’ve drugged him on at least one occasion. You’ve also had numerous concerned meetings with family members as to how to conceal his behavior because you don’t want it known that he’s gone insane.” Greggson paused. “I can tell by your expression, Robert, that some of this is true.”

“He… he almost died. He was physically savaged. It was touch and go the first three days he was back. The only reason we didn’t have him hospitalized is because Dr. Clarkson volunteered to stay and my wife, my daughters, and Matthew’s mother have experience from the war in nursing. Whoever held him had barely fed him enough to keep him from dying. I had to carry him up the stairs and he weighed about as much as a poorly grown twelve year old. They cut off his toes, they broke his ribs, his skull, some of his fingers, and there are so many scars all over his body, not pretty doesn’t even begin to describe it.” Robert eyed both of the newspaper men. “Yes, some of what you described is true. I’m just trying to put it into context for you. He’s lucky to be alive. He was tortured, almost to death.”

“Robert, I have no intention of publishing any of this,” Greggson said. “I understand what you’re saying. I… shared this with Edith before speaking with you, and she said nearly the same thing that Carlisle did, that it’s mostly true but also put in the worst possible light. For example, she told me that Matthew’s mother said he used to walk in his sleep as a child and so did his father… which makes it not unusual unless you want to titillate an audience with it. He has dizzy spells…. I know Tom told you I didn’t almost shoot him… so I don’t find it odd at all that you’ve told the servants to be mindful of how he’s had a serious head injury and to keep an eye on him. A month ago, you couldn’t have had this party, Matthew simply wouldn’t have been capable of it because he was so grievously injured. Jumping at loud noises and having nightmares… who wouldn’t?” He eyed Carlisle. “I don’t think it’s much of a story.”

“I do think it’s a story that would sell papers,” Carlisle said, “but it’s not worth it to me.”

“What?” Robert couldn’t help but ask. “Frankly, I would have thought that….”

“That I’d run with the opportunity? So did the letter writer.” Carlisle sipped his drink. “Robert, I’m well shed of Mary. It was never young Crawley’s fault that she was pining for him while she was engaged to me and frankly I think I got the bargain in that situation. But… the relationship is well known, and you should be pleased with Matthew. His performance at this party will put a great deal of the chatter to bed. I don’t intend to run this story because while I think it’s true, like Mr. Greggson here, I think it’s also exaggerated, understandable considering his injuries, and with him seeming well enough now, it would hurt me more than it would hurt him.”

Greggson laughed. “You *are* mercenary.”

“I take that as a compliment,” Carlisle said easily.

“I don’t get it,” Robert said. “How would it hurt you?”

Carlisle actually laughed, a dry sound. “Robert, I’m your daughter’s spurned fiancé. And as oddly as he may be acting, Matthew isn’t acting that oddly, and he’s just made a good showing with the peerage as a nice fellow who has had a terrible time but who is bouncing back nicely. If I went after him with a news story, it would be like beating a puppy to death. People would consider me a total cad, raking over my ex fiancé’s husband after he’s been as Greggson put it, so grievously injured. Sure, people would talk and make snickering comments about him being the mad Earl of Grantham… but I’d be the jealous cuckholded laughingstock who went after a poor chap who couldn’t even fight back. So to be clear, the favor I am doing you isn’t not printing this story. It’s letting you know that someone is talking and it’s someone inside your house. They’ve sent letters to me and to Greggson, and because of our relationships with your family, we’re both obvious choices. Now that we haven’t taken the bait, whoever it is will try other newspapers.”

“Fortunately,” Greggson added, “this party did go well. And this sort of thing has a short life.”

“I just don’t understand it,” Robert said after a moment. “I mean… the servants all adore Matthew. And Rose has seen some things that I think put her off at first but she would never do something like this.”

"It is someone who knows intimate details of this house, “Carlisle said. "Rose seems an unlikely source. She spent a good portion of her evening defending Matthew from her little bevy of suitors. Of course, you should investigate all angles, but it seems unlikely. Frankly, I think it is a servant."

 

"So do I," Greggson said. “Edith didn't know about some of the incidents of sleep walking. She knew it happened, but not several times and not that he got all the way to your horse barn on one occasion and was found at the folly gate on another. Mary would have been discreet about it, and possibly only mentioned it to you, but the servants who found him most likely told all the other servants."

 

"So I will need to have a row with the servants," Robert said tiredly. "And have the ones I trust watch the others. Lovely."


	5. Chapter five

"So who would do such a thing to that poor man?" Mrs. Hughes said angrily as she took a seat at the table in the servants hall. “Haven’t things been terrible enough for Mr. Crawley? It was not so long ago that he couldn't get out of bed without someone to steady him. If he seems a little out of sorts, he's a right to it."

 

Bates wasn't surprised to see Carson nod. He didn't adore the Crawleys the way Carson did, but he wasn't happy that someone was spreading rumors. It made all the staff look untrustworthy, and it was frankly odd. Rumors spread about anyone else in the house, with the exception of Lord Grantham, he would have at least understood. Cora and Mary both could be painfully high handed, Rose was wild, Tom was the widowed Irish chauffeur and Edith was Edith. Robert was rarely harsh without reason to a servant, and the only person who had ever complained about Matthew was Nanny West and Mosely. West hadn't liked Matthew wanting to play with George outside her schedule, and Mosely had long gotten over Matthew not wanting a valet.

 

Carson also took a seat at the table. "I do not know, Mrs. Hughes, but I will get to the bottom of it. Starting with Barrow. He's always been the source of rumors, him and O'Brien, but I'm certain of O'Brien." At Hughes's raised eyebrow, he added, "O'Brien has many qualities I dislike, but she was genuinely surprised by the things Lord Grantham mentioned. And genuinely upset." Carson seemed nonplussed.

 

"And I can't believe I am going to dig Thomas out of another hole," Bates said, wishing he wasn't compelled to speak up," but Thomas has been nothing but supportive of Mr. Matthew. I personally have seen him act quite charitably over some of Mr. Matthew's more...eccentric behavior. It's not him."

 

"I accept that," Carson said after a moment of consideration, "but that still leaves us with the question of who did it?"

 

Mrs. Patmore stormed in. "Daisy?! Where is Daisy?"

 

Daisy rushed out of the kitchen. "Yes Mrs. Patmore?"

 

Mrs. Patmore held out a small bottle of salad dressing. "Nanny West asked me to *remind* you that small babies drink milk not vinaigrette!"

 

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Patmore!" Daisy cried as she took the offending bottle and ran off.

 

Mrs. Hughes sighed. "If only all of our problems were resolved so easily." She gripped Carson's hand. "Don't worry, Mr. Carson, I will keep a close eye on what the maids are sending by post."

 

Of course, Bates thought to himself, that would just narrow it down. A bad business all around.

 

~*~

 

There were few privileges of being injured but the finest among them, Matthew thought cheerfully, was skipping the three hour church service on Sunday, and the two hours of social niceties that occurred after. Mary was a good sport but he knew there wouldn't be many more Sundays where he could successfully beg off attending.

 

It was just nice to be alone in the house, especially since the previous weekend had been the hunting party. Which of course meant they all skipped church but instead had a large cheerful lengthy breakfast with guests who were departing. Still work, in other words. He wasn't really alone in the house, although most of the servants did go to church. Barrow wasn't a church goer so he was usually down in the servants hall reading the newspaper. There would be one of the cooks preparing the family's lunch. One of the nannies would be with the children.

 

That thought stopped him in his tracks. It was a perfectly nice spring day. He could take George out to play on the grass. Little Sybbie as well, although that would mean having the nanny come along. It was West who was on duty though, and she would kick up a fuss and they would spend most of the time arguing. Unless he had help and that led him down to the servants hall.

 

Barrow was sitting at the table, reading the paper. He jumped to his feet. "Mr. Crawley, I thought you weren't well."

 

"Not well enough for church but it seems like a nice day and I thought I would take George and Sybil out to play, but I suspect Nanny West would protest too much unless I had someone to help me. Would you mind?"

 

Barrow smiled. "Of course. It's a nice day." He followed Matthew into the hallway. "I'm glad to see you take such an interest in the children. I don't .... Always like how Nanny West is with them."

 

"I don't care for having to schedule my time with my child," Matthew said. He didn't go further, because while he rather liked Barrow, it hadn't escaped him that Barrow was as gossipy as a woman. He was planning to have the nanny replaced, truth be told. He didn't like having a nanny at all, although he knew Mary would never stand for that, but he'd had no hand in the hiring and he didn't like the woman at all. "What did you mean about not liking how she was with them?"

 

"She seems... Harsh with them. I don't think she likes little Sybbie at all, and gets short if any of us try to see her. With George... She just seems cold. I don't know how to describe it." Barrow shrugged. "I don't like her."

 

And if he listened to rumors, hardly anyone in the house liked Barrow, but his words made him feel chilled. "Well, then all the better that we're taking the little ones out for some fresh air."

 

"I'll say, poor little beggars," Barrow said with a laugh.

 

"What do you mean?" Whatever Barrow was referring to, it was clearly more humorous than serious.

 

Barrow smirked. "Nanny West can be well, quite bilious. The servants’ dinner was heavy on beans."

 

"So this is really a rescue mission," Matthew said with a laugh. His good humor erased when he entered the nursery with Thomas, only to find both the children crying in their cribs. It almost relieved him. He could fire West without any backlash. Leaving the children alone was enough, but it was obvious that George and Sybil had been crying for some time. "There, there," he said as he picked up George, "Papa is here, don't cry." He was pleasantly surprised to see Barrow sooth little Sybbie and pick her up. "Mr. Barrow, why don't you and I take the children downstairs to the kitchen and see if the cook can find us a few bottles and one of the maids to help tend them. Then I shall find Nanny West and have her pack her bags."

~*~

 

Thomas nodded as he carefully held Sybbie. He was glad to hear it, that was the truth. He'd had a bad feeling about West the entire time she'd been there. She had been hired even before Mr. Crawley's funeral, when the household had been so upset that Carson would have hired an ax murderer if it eased the sorrow. He wasn't shocked the nasty cow had been ignoring the children, for Lady Sybil's sake, he liked to check up on Sybbie and he worried, much the way Matthew Crawley did, that West was too strict about people seeing the children.

 

He followed Matthew into the hallway, pleased that the little girl in his arms had quieted almost instantly. Much to his surprise, Nanny West was at the end of the hallway, looking incensed. "What are you two doing?"

 

"Minding the children, the way you're supposed to, Nanny West," Matthew shouted. "And since you find the job too taxing, you can find a different place to work. You're fired."

 

Much to Thomas's surprise, West actually laughed. "Really?" she called. "I'm fired from tending your squalling brat? What a bloody shame that is!"

 

Matthew was surprised as well. "Well... Then get out!"

 

"Oh, it's not that simple, Mr. Crawley! I know who you really are!" Her expression was full of rage. Despite how ridiculous it seemed, Thomas was starting to feel very afraid. Had she gone mad, he wondered.

 

"Who do you think I am," Matthew asked.

 

West smiled evilly. "You're the son of Harriet Jones."

 

For a moment, Thomas was worried the man would faint. He did turn white, almost

grey, which confirmed that whatever West was talking about, it meant something.

 

"I'm not," Matthew said carefully. "We're not blood related. I was adopted.

You're mistaken."

 

And what the hell was that about, Thomas wondered, but then West started laughing.

 

"Unlike the Sycorax, the Slitheen understand the concept of adoption. You are the son of Harriet Jones and you are holding the grandson of Harriet Jones. Stop and think about that for a moment."

 

The problem, Thomas realized, was that Matthew clearly was thinking about it and it was not pleasant at all.

 

"Are you threatening us?" Matthew finally said. "I don't even know what she's done."

 

"In 2005 she destroys us all," West hissed.

 

"Good lord, is there anyone she didn't destroy in the future," Matthew muttered under his breath. Louder, he said, "Can't you just avoid those circumstances, since you know they'll happen?"

 

"Because it is now a set point in time, you fool. We can't change it, we can only have our vengeance. I had hoped to have you dangle a bit longer, ruining your reputation was looking to be entertaining, and then snuffing out the life of that damn brat and then yours while that miserable woman watches... But instead I just have to hunt you down." She glared at Thomas directly. "And don't think I'll mind taking the house queer and chauffer's daughter down as well." Oddly she placed her hand on her forehead. "I think I shall hunt you naked, a hunt is always better naked." As Thomas watched in horror, it was as if she slit open her skin and white light streaked out. Then it was as though her face was pulled off, and a huge greenish creature seemed to flow out of the hole in her skin.

 

"Bloody hell," he whispered as the nanny transformed into a giant green clawed creature.

 

"Thomas," Matthew said carefully. "You and I are going to start running. The gun cabinet is still downstairs, isn't it? Thomas?" He began stepping backward.

 

"What? Yes..." It was hard to tear his eyes away from the beast as it continued twisting out of Nanny West's skin.

 

"Good. Let's run." Matthew pulled him down the hallway. Thomas risked a look back in time to see the creature start barreling after them. The gun cabinet, where the hunting rifles were stored between hunts, was next to the wine cellar. Daisy was in the kitchen when they rushed in. Matthew handed George to Daisy. "There's no time to debate this. Daisy, take George and run. Thomas, go with her, make sure George and Sybbie are safe." He kicked the glass out of the gun cabinet and began loading a shot gun. ”I will try to hold it off so you can escape but you need to run, now."

 

"Run from what?" Daisy shouted. "Who is chasing you?"

 

"Nanny West is some sort of bloody monster," Thomas shouted.

 

"A Slitheen," Matthew corrected. He cocked the shotgun. "Now take the children and get out of here. I will buy you some running time."

 

There was a screech of rage as the creature hit the door at the top of the stairs. "There's no time to run!" Daisy shrieked. She shoved the baby into Thomas's free arm. "Hold it at the stairs, Mr. Crawley!"

 

"She's right, damn it. Thomas, take the children into the kitchen. Try the windows. Get them out if you can." Matthew took position with the shot gun. The beast jumped down the stairs, taking out most of the railing. Matthew fired at it, and Thomas was shocked to see it rocked back only a little. He ran into the kitchen, with Matthew right behind, firing the gun. Then the gun was out.

 

The creature grabbed Matthew by the neck and lifted him up. "Shall I kill you first? Or make you watch your flesh and blood die first?" Matthew didn't answer, Thomas realized, because he was choking and turning purple. "I think if you don't answer, I'll kill the baby first. Would you like that? To live long enough to see your child die?" It threw Matthew into the dish cabinet.

 

Then it turned to Thomas. "Give me the boy," it hissed, "and I will let you and the little girl live."

 

It was tempting but he wasn't a fool. "No you won't. You hate us both."

 

The beast laughed. "Who knew underneath that sniveling exterior, you would find a moment of bravery? You are correct, of course. Would you like to die quickly or slowly? I'd let Mr. Crawley tell you what it's like to go slowly but he's still busy remembering how to breathe." Thomas spared a glance only to see Matthew on his hands and knees gasping for air. "What's your pleasure, Mr. Barrow?"

 

"Neither, you miserable thing!" Thomas jumped at the sound of Daisy's voice. Suddenly she was beside him, holding a water pitcher.

 

"Really? And what do you think you can do to stop me?" West/the creature snarled.

 

"This!" Daisy shrieked. She threw the contents of the water pitcher. Thomas caught a whiff of vinegar as the liquid splashed on the creature.

 

And then it exploded. Chunks of green goo splattered all over the kitchen. Matthew crawled to his feet and looked around. "What... What just happened?" he whispered hoarsely.

 

"Slitheen are mostly calcium, Mr. Crawley." Daisy said patiently. "Mr. Mason said if Nanny West tried to kill you or baby George, to throw vinegar on her. To kill her."

 

Matthew looked at her oddly. "You... And Mr. Mason... You're in Torchwood."

 

Daisy looked at him worriedly. "You're not supposed to tell people about Torchwood, Mr. Crawley. Mr. Barrow is right there!"

 

"Daisy," Matthew said patiently. "Nanny West turned into a giant green clawed creature in front of Thomas. I think he is in on the secret now."

 

"Yes but..." Daisy looked nervous.

 

"I need a drink," Matthew said. "Where does Carson hide the wine?"

 

"In the wine cellar, but it's locked." Thomas said. "What's Torchwood?"

 

Matthew ignored him. Instead he picked up the shotgun and went to the wine cellar door, took aim, blew off the door lock, and began rooting about. Thomas turned to Daisy. "What's Torchwood?"

 

"I can't tell you, or else I'll have to kill you, Thomas!" Daisy cried excitedly. "I was supposed to kill Mr. Crawley if he keeps on telling people about Torchwood and the aliens...."

 

Matthew came out of the wine cellar holding three bottles of white wine. "Killing the nanny who was really a vengeful space alien felt like a white wine sort of event." He eyed Daisy. "You were really supposed to kill me?"

 

"Only if you kept telling people in your sleep, or started telling outsiders. Like Thomas." She looked at him. "You can't keep telling people, Mr. Crawley.”

 

Matthew began setting the wine bottles on a tray and then getting glasses. "I didn't tell Mr. Barrow at all, did I? Nanny West just... Decided to go on the hunt. You are the one who mentioned how you're a Torchwood assassin. Where is there a corkscrew?"

 

"I wasn't supposed to tell you..." Daisy started to cry.

 

"Daisy..." Matthew gave her a hug. "You just saved my life, my son's life, and Thomas's life. I have no intention of getting you in trouble.... As long as you don't get *me* into trouble. All Torchwood needs to know is that Nanny West has been...." He gestured around the destroyed kitchen, "eliminated. Now, since I feel like I was just strangled and thrown into a wall, and Mr. Barrow, you look quite upset, and Daisy, you're crying, why don't we take the wine, the children, and the shotgun up to the library, and we'll see how much of the wine we can drink before everyone returns from church. I'm sure, between the three of us, we can come up with something a little more plausible than Nanny West turned into a giant green alien who melted when Daisy threw vinegar on it. Thomas, please tell me you have some cigarettes on you, because I really need one."

 

"I need one too," Daisy said. "And wine.” She grabbed the tray of wine."

 

Thomas handed George back to Matthew. "That makes three of us. Lucky I picked up a pack yesterday."

~*~

There was no one at the door to greet them, which Robert found odd. Barrow, more than most of the servants, enjoyed the whole business of greeting people at the door. The disquiet grew to concern when he began hearing excited shouts and exclamations coming from downstairs. Cora, who had headed up the stairs came running back down, her expression full of fear. "Robert, someone has torn apart the hallway. There's a dreadful mess."

 

Mary came rushing down the stairs as well. "Matthew isn’t in our room, and the children and nanny are not in the nursery! Papa...."

 

He knew where her thoughts were going, his were going to the same place. Matthew had been targeted the last time, and if George and Sybbie were missing, that was ominous. Carson came running up the stairs, something Robert found astounding all on its own. “Lord Grantham! The kitchen and servants hall is destroyed! Daisy and Mr. Barrow are missing!”

 

“Then search the house,” Robert said quickly. He began checking rooms himself, the disquiet growing to genuine fear as he began to see the mess. Then he stepped into the library, to find Matthew, Barrow, and Daisy laughing and holding nearly empty wine glasses. There were two empty bottles on the floor and Barrow was topping off everyone’s glasses. The two babies were crawling on the floor at their feet. At first, Robert was primed to yell, because Matthew if no one else should know better than to spend Sunday morning getting drunk. Then he took a closer look. There was a shotgun propped up against the bookshelves. Barrow’s livery and Matthew’s clothes looked ripped and stained and all three looked mussed and disheveled. And Matthew had a dark ridge of bruising around his neck that certainly hadn’t been there at breakfast. “What are you three doing?”

 

Matthew held up his hand. “Let me explain,” he said, sounding quite hoarse, gesturing for Barrow and Daisy to remain seated. “And Robert, you must not blame Barrow or Daisy for any of this. It’s all my fault.” He looked around Robert, apparently looking to see if the door to the library was open. “You see, Nanny West went quite mad.”

 

“What?” That was hardly the story he was expecting to hear.

 

“I know!” Matthew said. “I am as shocked as you are. No, more shocked because she actually attacked me. She is the one who has been sending all the nasty letters to the press about me. Apparently she wanted to destroy my reputation, not that there’s all that much left to destroy. What did you say they were calling me in the village, Thomas?”

 

“The mad man of Downton.” Barrow said with a laugh. “But really, you did get up in the middle of the night and walk out to the folly gates. I mean, that’s bloody odd, sir.”

 

“They also think he’s possessed by spirits,” Daisy added cheerfully. “Or maybe is a vampire. Because… you know, the body in the grave disappeared. Or melted.” She then laughed and all three clinked their glasses together and drank.

 

“Let’s get back to Nanny West went mad and tried to kill you?” Robert said patiently. He already had a good feeling that there was a secondary story to the whole mess.

 

“Nanny West went mad and tried to kill me.” Matthew said agreeably. “Thomas and I had found the children left alone so we took them down to the kitchen, to get lunch and Nanny West struck Daisy with….”

 

“A pot,” Daisy said helpfully. “It hurt dreadfully. I was knocked out.”

 

“She threw a chair at me and threw me into a wall,” Barrow said. “I lost consciousness.”

 

“Then Nanny West grabbed me by the throat and strangled me.” That Matthew had been strangled was increasingly obvious. The bruising was starting to stand out. “I think she threw me into the dish cabinet downstairs. That’s where I remember waking up. When I did wake up, the kitchen and the servants hall was in a horrendous state and Nanny West had blown the lock off the wine cellar. She was gone, but we were quite afraid she was still in the house so I grabbed a shotgun from the gun cabinet. And, “and he gestured to the wine, “I was quite out of sorts so I thought having a glass of wine would settle my nerves. I mean really, I wasn’t even well enough to go to church this morning. “He gestured expansively to Barrow and Daisy. “Then it seemed rude to not include Daisy and Thomas as their nerves were quite shattered by the morning’s events, so we grabbed several bottles of wine and hid here in the library. And then we drank most of the wine…” At which point all three began giggling like loons.

 

“Yes, it’s quite clear you drank most of the wine,” Robert said tiredly.

 

“And you mustn’t blame Daisy or Thomas,” Matthew said quickly. “This was entirely my idea. I insisted they drink with me. I even threatened their jobs.”

 

“He did!” Daisy declared. “He said every time he took a drink, we had to take a drink! And a puff on the cigarette…. But I think we ran out of those…”

 

That explained the unpleasant odor and the pile of ashes on the serving tray. At least they weren’t stubbing the damn things out on the oriental carpets. “Matthew… how much of this story is true?”

 

Matthew smiled slightly. “All of it. The details would be a little different if the door was closed. Rest assured, no one here intends to say anything other than Nanny West went quite insane and attacked us, isn’t that right?” Daisy and Thomas both nodded.

 

“Is this… related to the other matter? Where you injured your head and don’t remember where you were for three months?” Matthew nodded and then drank more wine. Robert sighed, and then closed the door to the library. “Are we in any danger?”

 

“We’ll need to ask Prime Minister Jones that,” Matthew said, his tone more curt. “But there’s no immediate danger. Daisy killed Nanny West with…. Vinegar?” Daisy nodded. “Daisy is actually a member of Torchwood, Robert. Oh wait, I have to take a drink, because I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about Torchwood.” He dutifully took a drink. “Anyway, Nanny West was a Slitheen and apparently Mother, in 2005, kills her entire family, or race, and was actually a quite large greenish thing with claws. We’re all quite lucky to be alive. She was going to kill all of us in the house.”

 

“Where is the body?” There hadn’t been any horrified screams yet but a giant green thing with claws was going to make people scream.

 

Thomas actually laughed. “Dripping down the kitchen’s walls, I should think, your lordship.”

 

“Slitheen and vinegar don’t mix, your lordship,” Daisy added helpfully. “They melt.”

 

“And… you’re in Torchwood?” Torchwood seemed a surprisingly egalitarian group considering his mother was involved.

 

“Daisy is a Torchwood assassin,” Matthew said helpfully. “Torchwood was planning to have her kill me if I went to the newspapers. We’ve agreed that it won’t come to that. But the first story will hold up, especially since Nanny West isn’t coming back, and everyone who has recently seen me has remarked on how not well I look. I wasn’t well, so I was easily overpowered, Daisy is a very small woman, and Thomas has a bad hand. And Nanny West was quite mad. But there’s no immediate danger to anyone right now. Well, the immediate danger is that we’re out of wine.”

 

Before Robert could respond, Mary and Tom opened the library door. “Oh thank God,” Tom said as he rushed to scoop up little Sybbie. Mary did the same with George, and he could see the concern in her eyes as she took in Matthew’s appearance.

 

“Matthew, what happened to your neck? Papa, we should call Dr. Clarkson.” Mary said it almost automatically. Matthew immediately shook his head.

 

“I’ll live,” he said. “Did my mother happen to come with you? To have lunch perhaps? I suddenly have a desire to have a lengthy talk with Mother.”

 

“No,” Robert said quickly. “You will not leave this house like this.”

 

“Like what?” Matthew seemed primed to get started right then with the argument he obviously wanted to have.

 

“You’re drunk. You’re clearly injured, and you’re spoiling for an angry fight. Go upstairs and sleep it off.” Isobel had the harsh words coming, after everything that had happened, Matthew had every right to be angry, but there was angry, and there was angry, drunk, and enraged after almost being killed.

 

“You’re not my father, Robert, and I am not a child.” All the prior joviality had left Matthew.

 

“You’re right, I’m not your father and you are not a child. And I am not going to have the servants tackle you to keep you here. I am going to point out that sometimes things get said in anger that can’t be taken back, and it’s been admirable so far how you’ve restrained yourself from saying every unpleasant thing that comes to mind over this situation. And unfortunately your father probably never had the chance to give the advice I am about to give you.”

 

“And what pray tell is that?” Matthew said tiredly.

 

“Your parents aren’t perfect. They make terrible mistakes. I have made terrible mistakes as a father. I’ve nearly bankrupted this estate. My youngest daughter is dead in part because I insisted on ignoring her regular doctor. I look at that empty space at the table and I know it is my fault. Your mother has spent the last few months watching you recover and knowing that she is at fault for every moment you suffered. And one day, you will find yourself looking at your son and praying he will forgive you for the stupid and terrible things you’ve done. I assure you, that day will come, because you are not perfect. Now you can walk into town, in the rage you’re currently in, or you can go upstairs and sleep off the bottle of wine and indulge Mary in letting Dr. Clarkson make sure you’re not badly injured. I won’t stop you from doing either, but I would be surprised and disappointed if you took the first option.”

 

“Really? Do you have any idea how close we all came to dying today? That I came this close to watching that horrible thing strangle my son to death?” Robert had never seen Matthew actually shake from rage.

 

“I believe you and it horrifies me and I am sure it will horrify your mother, and drive her further into the despair that you haven’t seen because she’s kept it hidden from you, because she’s been worried about you and frightened for you, and mourning you and everything you have lost.” And while he wasn’t planning to have the servants tackle Matthew, Isobel was going to feel horrible enough without Matthew venting his pent up rage at her in a drunken frenzy. He was also hoping to stall long enough for the alcohol to take him out. Daisy and Thomas were both yawning aggressively despite the unpleasant argument. “Be a gentleman, Matthew. You’re in no state of mind to go anywhere. “

 

“She’s not even at Crawley House right now, Matthew,” Mary interjected, her concern clear on her face. “She and Grandmama were invited to Lord Merton’s for afternoon tea…” It was strange to see Mary off put, but Robert could see that she was. A good thing really, he thought, that my daughter has never seen her husband enraged beyond his capacity to control himself.

 

Made better that Mary’s obvious concern seemed to calm him down slightly. Matthew took a deep breath and let it out. “Be a gentleman…you should have put that on my gravestone, Robert.” Still, as Matthew turned on his heels and stomped out, Robert was relieved to see he headed for the stairs and not the front door. He waved his hand at Thomas and Daisy.

 

“You two… go to bed. When Dr. Clarkson comes, I will have him check you both over, and I trust it’s understood that the first version of today’s events is the version you will give to anyone who asks?”

 

“Like anyone is going to believe the truth,” Thomas muttered. “At least we don’t have to clean up the bloody mess.”

~*~

 

She was surprised to see a light on in the parlor as she walked up to the house. She had given both the cook and Moseley the day off and both had been delighted to leave. She didn’t expect either back until well after dark, and it was still early evening. Did I really leave a light on, Isobel asked herself as she opened the front door. It had been a bad habit when she was a young woman, leaving all the lights and the television on in her London flat, but a habit she had lost when she found herself living in a world of kerosene lamps. Leaving a lamp lit was a costly waste and a fire hazard beside and even though Robert had extended the electricity to Crawley House, she had found she hadn’t missed it as much as she thought.

 

It almost made her laugh. It was hard to reconcile, sometimes, that her life was going to end a full generation before she was even born. It’s a pity my biography will end so abruptly in the future, she thought as she stepped into her home, the aftermath of the Dalek attack would add a certain poignancy to the whole mess.

 

Much to her surprise, she hadn’t left the parlor light on. Matthew was sitting on the couch, reading a book. A glass of scotch was on the table beside him. He looked up at her, and she had the sense that something was deeply wrong. He was pale and his eyes were shadowy dark circles, which sadly wasn’t all that unusual. He was better, much recovered from where he had started, but she doubted he would lose the pallor of sickness until summer was full on at least. But what worried her was the dark ridges of bruising all around his neck. Something had happened.

 

He set down the book. “Mother,” he said softly, his voice hoarse and raspy. “I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in.”

 

“Not at all, Matthew. This is still your home.” Although it occurred to her that it was the first time Matthew had been in the house in months. Since before. Before the Sycorax had taken him. It’s tonight, she realized. Tonight is the night I find out what the price really is for the miracle. Because she had always known that there would be a price and the more Matthew had pulled away from her, the more she had started to accept what the price was. She took a seat across from him, realizing in surprise that he had already positioned a glass of scotch for her. “What’s wrong, Matthew? You don’t look well.”

 

Matthew leaned back in his chair and sipped his drink. “I killed my son’s nanny today, Mother.” He chuckled suddenly. “I should be honest. I tried to kill my son’s nanny today, and failed miserably. If it hadn’t been for Daisy, the assistant cook and Torchwood assassin on staff at the estate, I’d be dead, and so would your grandson and my niece as well. “

 

“Daisy… is a Torchwood assassin?” Is everyone a member of Torchwood, she wondered. “Why… why was it necessary to kill the nanny?” Because despite all the talk to the contrary, there was always the real possibility that Matthew had cracked mentally. There were many days and nights where she questioned her own sanity and Matthew had been raised in a far more rigid world. There was a contingency plan if Matthew genuinely lost touch with reality, but murdering the nanny would be difficult to cover up.

 

“Nanny West was a Slitheen,” Matthew said, his eyes hard. “I assume that means more to you than it did to me. Apparently Prime Minister Jones destroyed their entire family in 2005 and therefore the family of Harriet Jones gets to pay. Nanny West is the one who has been sending the nasty letters to the newspapers suggesting I’ve gone mad.” He gestured to the bruises around his neck. “She’s also the one who turned into a giant green monster this morning and strangled me and threw me into the dish cabinet in the servants hall at Downton.” Matthew hesitated. Quietly he said, ‘Mother, the reason I am alive right now is because… that creature… needed a moment to consider whether it would be more amusing for me to die first or to watch my son die. And of course, that Daisy the cook had the good sense to know that vinegar would be more effective than the shotgun I chose.”

 

“Oh god…” Having done a mad run from a Slitheen herself, she understood how terrifying the day must have been. Made worse tenfold that George had been involved. “I had no idea…”

 

Matthew sipped his drink. He lowered his eyes and sighed heavily. “I can’t do this again, Mother. I’m not strong enough, I’m not brave enough. If I had been the only one in the house today, my son would be dead.” His voice started to shake. “I’m…. struggling to forgive you. I’m struggling a great deal because I thought… I thought when the nightmare ended two months ago, that it was over. And now I find out that it’s not and that this entire time, my son was alive only because of the whims of one of your enemies.”

 

“I didn’t know,” she said, knowing it wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear. “I thought the Slitheen were all dead and they didn’t have time travel, it’s quite rare really, and frankly it never dawned on me to be suspicious of Nanny West. We were all… too upset and worried about Mary to really pay attention….”

 

Matthew jumped to his feet, and pointed his finger at her. It wasn’t just upset, she realized, he was genuinely enraged. “You don’t get to say that,” he hissed. “Do you think it has never occurred to me how devastated my *wife* was the days after I was kidnapped by the Sycorax? She buried her husband, and was mourning so heavily that getting a shambling wreck of a man back made her happy. You don’t get to throw how upset my wife was over my *death* into my face to defend yourself.” After a long moment, he seemed to calm down. “I need to know who else is coming for you. I can…. I can send Mary and George to her grandmother’s. Mary will hate it there but she’ll do it if I ask. I can change George’s name… I can stay here and be the target…. But I can’t protect them if I have no idea what’s coming.”

 

She smiled, she couldn’t help it. “You’re so much like your father. Do you know, he said something to me very much like that when you were about four. I wish you could have known him better.”

 

“Don’t drag Father into this,” Matthew warned.

 

“Why? Because you don’t want to know that he was a part of this?” If we’re going to have this fight, Isobel decided, then it is time I told him the truth. “He knew about it all. The Sycorax, the Slitheen…. The Daleks. For what it’s worth, that, and the Doctor, are my list of enemies. If the Daleks come…” and her skin crawled at the very thought, “The only hope we’ll have is if they just decide to blow up the planet. There won’t be any sneaky kidnappings or subtle infiltration of the household. If the Sycorax come back, they will come for me, not you. The Slitheen… I didn’t think they would be a concern but they’ll always be masquerading as overweight humans. And I suspect the Doctor likes you. Certainly more than he likes me. There’s no reason to move the family. There’s no need to send Mary to America or change George’s name.”

 

“Because the Daleks will just blow up the planet,” Matthew finished for her. He sat down heavily. “What point is there in having a family at all? Our fate is already set.”

 

“Your father said the same thing,” Isobel said after a long moment. “Worse, I told him about the war, that it was coming, and it would be a meat grinder of death, that his only son, his only child at all, would be exactly the right age to be in the thick of it from start to finish and probably wouldn’t survive. He looked much the way you do now. I’m going to tell you something I told him, and it’s something I first heard in an otherwise terrible moving picture about time travel. There’s no fate but the one you make for yourself. You can have a life, Matthew, a life where you aren’t constantly looking over your shoulder, because anything can happen. You could die tomorrow, Matthew. And humanity will always do a fine job of destroying itself.” She took a long drink, savoring the taste. “I was born in 1959, which should tell you about the vagaries of fate. One of my earliest memories was of my parents putting me in their car and driving me from our London home out to my grandparents. For a party, they said, and they filled the car with clothes and boxes of groceries and it seemed like a grand time indeed. My cousins were there, they were all mostly older, and we were all sent down to the basement to sleep because it was supposed to be fun, even though there was plenty of room in the house. I thought it was fun, an adventure…. Until my older cousins set me straight. The Americans and the Russians were almost at war, and my grandparents had offered to take all the children as evacuees, because if the war started, London would be hit by the bomb and we’d never get out.” She shuddered despite herself. “I snuck upstairs later that night, and found my mother weeping and holding my father as they listened to the radio. She was weeping because the Russians had backed down and we weren’t all going to die. That’s the world I grew up in, Matthew. The end of the world has always dangled over my shoulder. There will always be terrible things happening in the world, and there will always be a reason to give up, to be afraid of the future. But…. There’s always hope.”

 

“Really?” Matthew looked up at her, his eyes heavy with concern. “The future you’ve just described… George will be old enough to be your grandfather. I’m not sure I want my great grandchildren cowering in a basement waiting to die.”

 

He was making a fair point, but an easy one to refute. “Men will walk on the Moon. I’ve seen it. I was ten years old when it happened the first time.” She laughed suddenly, overwhelmed. “It becomes so common place, when someone dies in outer space, it’s so shocking, it is like the world stops for a moment, because it’s so hard to contemplate. There’s other things… I wasn’t even the first female prime minister. The laws were changed so the next child born to the royal family will be the king or the queen, because girls aren’t less. I once flew from London to New York on a plane in under 4 hours,” and Matthew didn’t need to know how she had barely been able to go near an airport after the Concorde crash and 9/11. “The future is full of possibilities for you. As badly as I was frightened as a child, we managed to step back from the brink.”

 

Matthew eyed her carefully. “What about the war? The second world war?” He clearly saw the surprise on her face. “You told me, that night, the last time we discussed this, that the First World War wasn’t as devastating as what you did to the Sycorax. That means there’s at least a second.” His eyes looked sick with worry. “Is my son the right age to enter that meat grinder of death, as you call it?”

 

“I think you and Mary should have more children,” she said after a moment, “and you should live your life. There will always be wars, Matthew, and you can’t protect your children from them. There’s a reason I never said a word of protest when you volunteered to fight, and it wasn’t because I didn’t want you to know the truth about my being something of a time traveler. You have to live your life and make your own choices. Your life will be filled with wonders and terrors, and so will the lives of your children.” She took a deep breath. “Your father made me promise to never tell you. He found knowing things about the future upsetting, and he wanted you to make decisions based on what you knew and not what you thought might happen. He loved you very much, you know. The stories he told you, about how long he… and your birth mother, waited for a child, those were all true. I found some of their letters, and some pictures. I thought you might want them.” Isobel waited a long moment. “I said this before, and I meant it. You have every right to be angry with me. I don’t deserve your forgiveness… especially now. I should have warned you about the Slitheen…. If something had happened to you or George…. I’d never forgive myself. But…. I can’t tell you that your life will be a pleasant walk in the park either. You have to decide on your own how you want to face it. You’re a strong man, stronger than you realize. But there’s no reason to separate yourself from your wife and son. There’s no reason to live your entire life worried. The one enemy you haven’t seen… the Daleks…. In the original timeline they don’t arrive on earth until 2009.”

 

“And my great grandchildren all die then?” Matthew asked.

 

“No,” she said, although she had her worries, despite her faith in the Doctor. “The Doctor…. Never told me what you saw… did you see the fight? Where he killed the Sycorax leader?”

 

After a long moment, he nodded. “Once,” he said with a shuddering breath. “Early on. I didn’t realize he was the same man… They didn’t, either.”

 

“Did they show you what he said? That the Earth… it is protected.” It was the thing that gave her hope. The horrible day she confronted the Daleks, she had done it knowing that she was going to die but that the Doctor would save them because of her sacrifice. That she had survived it, even cast into the past, was all the proof that she needed, that the Doctor had somehow saved them all. “It is protected. We are protected.” She sighed. “I should have had more faith in that.”

 

He sighed. “I suppose I find it difficult to have faith these days.” He looked up at her intently. “I continue to forgive you, for the same reasons. I won’t deny that earlier today, I questioned that forgiveness.”

 

“And when I hear the harsh words you can’t contain, know that I understand why they’re said. You have every right to say them. The Sycorax tortured you, for months, because they thought we were related by blood. You’re not helping anyone by not being angry. I know that’s why we haven’t talked, I know that what happened today was horrifying, and I know more than anyone else that it happened because I am an interloper in your life.” She sighed again. “That’s the reality. I’m the one who caused this. Everything that has happened, every time you were struck or worse, every moment of terror you felt, is because of me. I didn’t…. I didn’t have to interfere in your life. I could have said no to Reginald’s offer to allow me to slip into the identity of his dead wife, and none of this nightmare would have happened.”

 

Matthew looked down at his drink and chuckled. “Oh Mother,” he said between laughs, “we never give Cousin Robert any credit for his cleverness. Do you know what he said to me today? To stop me from coming here and having this conversation while I was in a drunken rage and ready to physically strike you?’

 

“I hate to ask,” she said after a moment. Robert wasn’t a dumb man by any means, and he was a kinder soul than she expected, especially considering he had Violet for a mother, but he was more of a hindrance than a help in serious discussions.

 

“He said that parents make mistakes, that one day I would find myself hoping my son would forgive me for whatever stupid thing I had done, that he blamed himself for Sybil dying, and that you blamed yourself for what happened to me.” He smiled slightly. “And that I should be a gentleman and not show up drunk and enraged at your home. Believe me, Mother, the thought had occurred to me that my life would be much different if you weren’t convinced to become Isobel Crawley. I considered that a great deal as I waited here for you today.”

 

“None of this would have happened to you,” she agreed. There was no way to take it back, and she wouldn’t have even if she could, but that was the real price of power. Wielding it and knowing that it hurt the ones she loved best, and knowing that it wouldn’t stop her from doing it again.

 

Matthew nodded although his expression had lost the angry caste that had colored his features. “Yes, being grabbed by the Sycorax and tortured the night my son was born never would have happened. I accept that. Being strangled by the alien creature that was masquerading as my son’s nanny also wouldn’t have happened. But…. That’s really not the only thing that would have changed, if you hadn’t agreed to be Isobel Crawley. That’s why I continue to forgive you.”

 

“I…. don’t understand,” she said after a moment.

 

Matthew looked down at his hands, pensive. “Father probably wouldn’t have remarried easily. An older man, with a child in tow, and no fortune to his name. He still would have died when I was eleven, if not sooner because he was stressed from raising a child alone. And where would I be? It was hard enough when I had a mother to go home to, a mother who still wanted me to go to school and who made sure there was food on the table.” He looked up at her. “I remember how difficult it was for you, raising a child alone. It dawned on me today what my life would have been like without…. Without Prime Minister Jones agreeing to be Isobel Crawley. If I was lucky, I might have ended up at Downton as the poor orphaned commoner cousin taken in because no one else would, but Father only discussed that side of the family when you brought it up. Without you there, he never would have discussed it, and I would have been sent to some orphanage or workhouse and apprenticed off to some blacksmith or worse. If Patrick and James managed to die the same way, Robert would have been bemoaning the fact that his heir was a working class pauper with no education. That’s if I was even alive. You know more than I how difficult it is for children with no parents to survive.” He sighed heavily. “It occurred to me that time travel is like a snake eating its own tail. What might have been if you hadn’t become my mother? I might be perfectly happy… But I might be much worse off. I’m not angry about the lie. I’m angry that… I feel like I’m never going to get my life back. I meant it, when I said that I wasn’t strong enough to do this again. I’m not. If you’re not telling me something, to spare me the worry….” He looked at her, his eyes fierce. “I won’t forgive that, Mother. I didn’t ask before, so you never lied to me about there being more enemies. But I am asking now and if you lie…. Please don’t cross that line, Mother. Are there any other enemies of yours that could come?”

 

She took his hand and squeezed it. “Just the Daleks and if they came, we’d be lucky to have a minute to pray. That’s the truth, Matthew.” She waited a long moment. “You are strong enough, and brave enough, and Mary doesn’t see you as a wreck of a man. You’re just pushing yourself far too hard. Does she even know where you are?’ Because if she didn’t, then it wouldn’t be long before someone came looking for Matthew. She sometimes wished Mary paid that sort of attention to her grandson.

 

Matthew nodded. “I’m not a complete fool, Mother. She’s already upset that I look like I was hung and that her home was completely torn up and that I had a screaming fight with her father. Oh, and she has to hire a new nanny. Because we can’t not have a nanny, despite the obvious problems the last one caused.” He stood up. “I should head back before she sends a search party regardless of my letting her know where I went. Is there anything else about the future I should know? Aside from men walking on the Moon, terrible wars, abysmal fashion for men, and women being elected to high office?’ He was trying for humor, to defuse things, she realized. The way Reginald had when they had finished a fight.

 

She decided to play along. “Prince Edward will become king and then abdicate in under a year in order to marry an American divorcee.”

 

Matthew nodded with amusement. “I can only hope you haven’t told Cousin Violet that.”

 

“I’m saving it for when she’d being more difficult than normal. You’ll need to prop Robert up when Bertie becomes king and his daughter becomes queen.” She didn’t want to ruin it by getting too serious, there wasn’t much she could tell him that would even make sense. But…. If he was going to be the Earl of Grantham and have more children and manage the estate instead of allowing it to fall into ruin, then she did have to give him one piece of advice. “Matthew, I do want you to promise me one thing.”

 

He stopped and stood. “What is that, Mother?”

 

“Make sure you have all of your money, and Robert’s money out of the stock market before October of 1929. Even if someone calls you a fool, don’t listen.” It wasn’t changing the future, she reasoned. Matthew had always been cautious with investing.

 

A slight smile came to his face. “You know, the one thing I never considered, having a time traveler for a mother, is that you would have excellent stock tips.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was fun to write!


End file.
